®L 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


UNIVERSITY  OF 
NORTH  CAROUNA 

School  of    Library  00022092771 

Scieace 


%  '     "•*  T     3  VA  %r*;  <*.„-•  \   \ 


ALAN    GILBERT'S 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  Olf 

»  My  Grandfather  Gregory  ;"    "  Twelve  Moral  Maxims  ',»• 

"  The  Boy'a  Week-day  Book,"  &c 


WITH   ALTERATIONS   AND   ADDITIONS, 

ADAPTING  IT  TO  THE  USE  OF  THE  GENERAL  PR0TB3TANT  EPISC0YA1 

SUNDAY   SCHOOL  UNION. 


NEW-YORK: 

PUBLISHED  BY  THE  GEN;  PROTESTANT  EPISCOPAL 

SUNDAY    SCHOOL 

UNION. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hi 


http://www.archive.org/details/alangilbertslastOOoldh 


CONTENTS, 


PAQE. 

CHAPTER    I. 
The  Morning  Walk 5 

CHAPTER   IL 

TheParty * 13 

CHAPTER    III. 

The  Hall 23 

CHAPTER    IV. 

The  Club 

CHAPTER   V. 

TheSchool 48 

CHAPTER   VI. 
"fixe  Work-house 57 

CHAPTER   VII. 
The  Public-House 68 

CHAPTER    VIII. 
The  Church 82 

CHAPTER    IX. 
The  Church-yard 94 

^  CHAPTER   X. 

ft-  Sunset 10G 

A  (3>     < 


ALAN    GILBERT'S 
LAST       BIRTH-DAY. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE    MORNING    WALK. 

Harry  Gilbert  skimming  stones  along  the  Brook — Walter  Ste- 
vens's Cottage  —  Church-yard — The  sand-stone  Rock — Youthful 
Peat — The  Spring — Frank  Redding's  Prank — Alan's  Cottage — 
The  Prospect — Dinner — A  Chapter  of  the  Bible  read — Preparation 
for  Friends. 

"  When  I  was  a  boy,"  said  old  Alan  Gilbert,  as 
he  stood  resting  on  his  staff,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
rippling  surface  of  the  running  brook  which  flowed 
at  the  foot  of  the  bank  on  which  he  stood, — "  When 
I  was  a  boy,"  resumed  he ;  but  here  he  came  to  a 
close,  for  his  mind  was  wandering  back  to  the  days 
of  his  youth,  and  he  scarcely  knew  that  he  had 
spoken. 

"  And  what  when  you  were  a  boy  ?"  cried  Harry 
Gilbert,  a  ruddy  faced  lad  of  nine  years  old,  who 
was  amusing  himself  in  skimming  flat  stones  along 
the  surface  of  the  water;  "I  dare  say  that  you 
could  not  make  a  duck  and  a  drake*  better  than  I 
can." 


*  Thus  boys  term  the  wake  of  motion  made  in  the  water  by 
skimming  stones  over  it. 

1*  (5) 


6  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

"  Yes,  but  I  could  though,"  rejoined  the  old  man, 
with  something  like  triumph  in  his  animated  face; 
"  and  many  are  the  times  that  I  have  stood  where 
you  are  now  standing,  Harry,  making  ducks  and 
drakes  with  the  pebble  stones,  for  hours  together.  I 
remember  the  day  when  Joe  Turner  and  I  quarrel- 
led and  fought  by  the  side  of  the  brook,  to  our  re- 
proach be  it  spoken ;  for  it  is  very  wrong  for  child- 
ren, or  men  either,  to  get  angry  and  quarrel  with 
one  another ;  the  Bible  says  we  must  forgive,  it 
any  one  have  a  quarrel  with  another;  but  poor  Joe 
has  ended  his  quarrels  now,  as  all  the  rest  of  them 
have  who  were  young  when  I  was  a  lad ;  all  ex- 
cept Frank  Redding  and  Etherd  Morris ;  we  three 
are  left  alone,  like  shocks  of  tithe  corn  in  the  fields, 
when  the  rest  are  all  gathered  into  the  garner." 

The  voice  of  Alan  Gilbert  faltered  as  he  finished 
his  sentence  ;  he  turned  away  from  the  brook,  and 
hobbled  a  few  steps  with  his  stick.  "  Man,  that  is 
born  of  a  woman,"  said  he,  again  making  a  stand, 
u  is  of  few  days,  and  full  of  trouble ;  he  cometh  forth 
like  a  flower,  and  is  cut  down ;  he  fleeth  also  as  a 
shadow,  and  continueth  not." 

Harry  Gilbert  had  left  off  his  pastime  at  the  brook 
and  joined  Alan,  who  was  gazing  around  with  more 
than  ordinary  interest  on  the  distant  objects. 

"  What  are  you  looking  at  so,  Grandfather  ?"  in- 
quired Harry,  "  for  I  see  nothing  but  the  cottage  of 
Walter  Stevens,  and  the  church-yard,  and  you  have 
seen  them  a  hundred  times." 

"  True,"  said  Alan,  "  but  He  who  knows  all  things 


■b 


LAST  BIRTH-DAY.  7 

only  knows  how  much  longer  I  may  look  upon 
them.  In  that  cottage  I  was  born,  and  in  that 
church-yard  my  bones  will  soon  be  laid.  My  fa- 
thers before  me  have  slept  there,  and  the  green  sod 
will  soon  be  springing  over  the  dust  of  Alan  Gil- 
bert." "And  why  should  you  talk  in  that  fashion, 
Grandfather!  you  will  live  many  a  year  yet,  I 
warrant  you  ;  look  at  Etherd  Morris,  he  is  a  great 
deal  older  than  you  are,  and  yet  he  is  alive  and 

weii."  *         u ■■■-.    ;• 

"Ay,  Harry,  but  where  there  is  one  who  lives  to 
be  as  old  as  I  am,  there  are  fifty  who  die  at  half  my 
age.  I  am  fourscore  this  very  day,  and  am  looking 
about  me  now,  because  it  is  hardly  likely  that  I 
shall  see  another  birth-day.  Not  that  I  have  reason 
to  desire  it,  for  true  it  is,  that  <  the  days  of  our  years 
are  threescore  and  ten  years;  and  if  by  reason  of 
strength,  they  be  fourscore  years,  yet  is  their  ' 
strength  labor  and  sorrow,  for  it  is  soon  cut  off, 
and  we  fly  away.5  " 

Harry  Gilbert  was  not  in  a  mood  to  pay  much  at- 
tention to  the  texts  of  Scripture  repeated  by  Alan; 
one  moment  he  was  gathering  a  wild  flower,  and 
the  next  trying  how  far  he  could  jump.  The  con- 
trast was  great  between  the  light-hearted  expression 
of  his  face,  and  the  somewhat  overshadowed  coun- 
tenance of  his  aged  companion. 

«  I  could  tell  many  a  tale."  said  old  Alan,  "of  the 
things  which  have  taken  place  in  the  village,  that 
other  people  have  paid  little  attention  to,  and  on 
which  I  have  seldom  spoken." 


8  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

"  Could  you,"  quickly  replied  Harry ;  "  I  wish  you 
.  would  then,  for  I  should  like  to  hear  them  of  all 
things."  "  If  that  be  the  case,  you  may  hear  them," 
rejoined  Alan.  "  for  Frank  Redding  and  Etherd 
Morris  are  coming  to  chat  away  part  of  the  day 
with  me.  In  the  afternoon  we  shall  have  the  round 
deal  table  put  on  the  green  before  the  door,  and 
then,  if  you  like  to  listen,  you  may  perhaps  be  made 
a  little  wiser,  as  it  respects  the  village,  than  you  are 
now.  Etherd  Morris,  Frank  Redding,  and  myself, 
are  drawing  near  to  our  latter  end  ;  God  grant  that 
we  may  all  be  prepared  for  it  by  a  lively  faith  in  His 
mercy,  '  who  his  own  self  bare  our  sins  in  his  own 
body  on  the  tree,  that  we,  being  dead  to  sin,  should 
live  unto  righteousness.5  I  wish,  however,  that  my 
old  friends  thought  less  of  this  world  and  more  of 
that  which  is  to  come ;  God  has  granted  them  a  long 
life,  would  that  more  of  it  had  been  devoted  to  his 
glory.  It  is  not  old  age,  Harry,  that  makes  men 
wise;  'The  fear  of  the  Lord  is  the  beginning  of 
knowledge.'  The  fear  of  God  and  the  grace  of  the 
Redeemer,  are  sufficient  to  make  you  wise  in 
youth,  and  without  them  you  will  be  but  a  fool  in 
old  age." 

Alan  Gilbert,  in  his  way  to  the  village,  had  to 
pass  along  the  low  part  of  the  road,  cut  through 
the  solid  rock.  On  each  side  of  the  way  might  be 
seen  letters  rudely  graven  in  the  sand-stone.  Some 
were  high,  and  some  low  ;  some  perfect,  and  others 
worn  away  by  age.  Opposite  the  highest  and  steep- 
est part  of  the  rock,  Alan  made  a  stand,  and  lean- 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  9 

ing  on  his  staff,  looked  up  toward  the  summit, 
where  was  graven,  in  full  length,  the  name  of  Alan 
Gilbert.  Alan  had,  perhaps  twenty  times  over  in 
the  course  of  the  few  last  years,  pointed  out  to 
Harry  the  letters  in  question,  and  now  once  more 
he  directed  his  attention  to  the  elevated  situation  in 
which  the  characters  were  graven. 

"  There,"  said  he,  "  I  cut  those  letters,  with  my 
own  hands,  sixty-five  years  ago,  for  it  was  on  my 
birth-day,  and  at  Lammas-tide.  Some  of  the  young- 
sters of  the  village  were  met  together,  and  I  among 
them.  After  many  frolics  we  began  to  climb  the 
rock,  and  to  carve  our  names  upon  it.  Will  Bur- 
ton cut  his  name  higher  up  than  any  of  us;  but, 
being  determined  not  to  be  outdone,  I  went  away, 
and  borrowing  a  rope  from  Dame  Cutler,  at  the 
thatched  cottage  at  the  top  of  the  lane,  passed  round 
the  rock.  How  did  Bill  Burton  stare  when  he  saw 
me  twist  the  rope  round  the  oak  tree  at  the  top  of 
the  rock,  and  let  myself  down  two  or  three  yards. 
I  carved  my  name,  as  you  see,  above  them  all,  and 
there  it  is  now ;  a  little  the  worse  for  wear,  yet  it 
will  be  read,  may  be,  when  I  am  forgotten.  Bill 
Burton  and  Dame  Cutler,  the  thatched  cottage  and 
the  oak  tree  are  all  gone,  but  Alan  Gilbert  is  here 
still,  and  his  name  is  there  where  he  then  put  it ; 
but  of  what  use  is  that  to  me  now  ?  O  that  all  our 
names  may  hereafter  appear  written  in  the  Lamb's 
book  of  life !  That  is  where  we  should  wish  and 
strive  and  pray  to  have  our  names  recorded." 

Harry  Gilbert,  all  this  time,  was  employed  in 


10  ALAN    GILBERT  S 

carving  his  own  name  at  the  foot  of  the  rock,  for 
the  youthful  exploit  of  his  grandfather  was  so  old  a 
tale  to  him,  that  he  paid  no  more  attention  to  it  thau 
if  it  had  been  narrated  to  another  person. 

"  Come,"  said  old  Alan,  as  soon  as  Harry  had 
finished  cutting  his  name  in  the  rock.  u  let  us  be 
moving  toward  home,  for  we  have  walked  far,  the 
sun  is  hot,  and  I  am  not  so  strong  as  I  have  been." 
Harry  left  the  rock  and  went  to  his  grandfather, 
who  leaned  on  his  shoulder  as  they  walked  up  the 
hill  together.  When  they  came  to  the  spring,  cut  in 
the  sandstone  on  the  left  side  of  the  road,  Alan  made 
another  stand,  and  said,  "  I  wonder  how  many  times 
I  have  drunk  of  that  spring ;  but  the  pitcher  that 
goes  oftenest  to  the  well,  will  come  home  broken 
at  last."  Harry  Gilbert  slipped  away  from  his 
grandfather,  and  falling  upon  his  knees,  dipped  the 
brim  of  his  hat  into  the  spring,  and  drank  heartily. 
Before  Harry  had  taken  away  his  hat  from  his 
mouth,  a  large  turf  came  down  upon  him  from  the 
top  of  the  bank  which  overhung  the  spring,  and  a 
loud  laugh  was  heard,  which  Harry  Gilbert  well 
knew  to  be  the  laugh  of  Frank  Redding.  Old  Frank, 
from  the  bank  above,  had  seen  Harry  bending  down 
to  the  spring,  and  his  love  of  humor  had  led  him  to 
pull  up  a  turf,  by  means  of  which  he  intended  to 
duck  Harry's  head  into  the  water  as  he  stooped  to 
drink  ;  but,  not  being  in  time  to  do  this,  he  con- 
tented himself  with  throwing  the  turf  down  upon 
Harry's  hat,  while  the  water  was  in  the  brim. 
Down  went  the  hat,  to  the  astonishment  of  Harry, 


last  birth- day.  It 

who,  when  he  heard  the  laugh  of  Frank  Redding^ 
looked  up  and  saw  the  old  man  standing  on  the 
bank,  holding  his  sides  with  laughter:  so  true  is  it, 
that  some  persons  never  cease  from  folly,  never  will 
become  serious.  Frank  Redding  having  now  be- 
come an  old  man  ought  to  have  put  away  such 
childish  sports. 

"Is  that  yon,  Frank?"  said  Alan,  looking  up; 
"  nothing  will  serve  you  but  some  prank  or  other: 
fie,  fie.  You  and  I,  Frank,  are  too  old  to  indulge 
in  such  tricks:  we  had  better  be  considering  our 
latter  end." 

"  Why,  Master  Gilbert,"  replied  Frank,  "  I  was 
in  debt  to  Harry  for  a  joke  he  put  upon  me  the 
other  day,  and  I  thought  it  a  nice  opportunity  to 
pay  him  off.  Come,  Harry,  have  another  dip  at 
the  spring  while  I  pull  up  another  turf."  Here 
Frank  renewed  his  laugh,  while  Harry,  shaking  his 
head,  told  him  it  should  not  be  long  before  he  was 
even  with  him.  Alan  reminded  Frank  Redding  of 
his  agreement  to  spend  the  afternoon  with  him, 
and  then  walked  on,  accompanied  by  Harry,  who 
thought  of  nothing  but  the  manner  in  which  he 
should  return  the  joke  of  Frank  Redding.  Now 
though  this  old  man  was  so  thoughtless,  Harry- 
ought  to  have  considered  his  age,  and  not  sought 
to  retaliate  upon  him. 

The  cottage  of  Alan  Gilbert  was  a  pretty  place, 
for  though  Alan  had  not  always  lived  in  it,  he  had 
been  therein  long  enough  to  be  attached  to  it.  The 
grape  tree  that  twined  its  extended  branches  around 


12  alan  Gilbert's 

it  was  ]aden  with  fruit,  and  the  garden,  at  the  back, 
was  in  excellent  order.  A  small  orchard  stood  on 
one  side,  and  an  out-house  on  the  other ;  while  the 
level  green,  in  front,  gave  it  that  air  of  quietude  and 
repose  which  is  so  grateful  in  rural  habitations. 

The  prospect  was  a  very  good  one,  for  the  prin- 
cipal parts  of  the  scattered  village  were  plainly  seen 
from  the  spot.  The  mansion  of  Squire  Norton, 
with  the  rookery  to  the  left ;  the  church  and  par- 
sonage ;  the  winding  brook  down  in  the  valley,  and 
the  distant  hills,  all  gave  an  interest  to  the  scene ; 
nor  was  the  cottage  of  Walter  Stevens,  in  which 
Alan  Gilbert  was  born,  the  least  interesting  part  of 
the  picture. 

Alan  and  his  grandson  seated  themselves  to  par- 
take of  their  mid-day  meal,  but  not  till  the  old  man 
had  reverently  supplicated  the  Father  of  mercies, 
in  the  prevailing  name  of  Jesus  Christ,  to  add  his 
spiritual  blessing  to  the  temporal  gifts  which  he 
had  so  liberally  bestowed  upon  them,  and  to  make 
their  hearts  unfeignedly  thankful. 

After  dinner,  Alan,  according  to  his  daily  custom, 
opened  his  Bible,  and  read  a  portion  from  the  Old 
and  New-Testament,  explaining,  as  he  went  on, 
every  passage  which  appeared  to  be  above  his 
grandson's  comprehension,  and  exhorting  Harry 
Gilbert,  from  time  to  time,  to  be  a  humble  worship- 
per of  the  God  of  his  fathers. 

Harry  Gilbert,  though  rather  blunt  in  his  beha- 
vior, loved  his  grandfather,  and  listened  attentively 
to  his  remarks ;  after  which  he  helped  him  to  pre- 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  1$ 

pare  for  Frank  Redding  and  old  Etherd  Morris. 
The  round  deal  table  was  placed  in  the  shade  on  the 
green,  before  the  door,  covered  with  the  best  cheer 
the  cottage  afforded.  Harry  then  amused  himself 
in  spinning  his  peg-top,  and  his  grandfather  sat 
down  to  wait  for  his  expected  guests. 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE   PARTY. 

Description  of  Etherd  Morris — Frank  Redding  —  The  Picture — 
Description  of  Alan  Gilbert — Conversation  —  Fire  at  Benjamin 
Butler's — Advantages  of  Affliction — Unked  House — Jonas  Griffeth 
and  his  two  Sons — The  evils  of  Anger  and  unbridled  Passion — 
Farmer  Brooks's  Greyhound. 

It  was  about  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when 
Etherd  Morris  and  Frank  Redding  sat  themselves 
down,  with  Alan  Gilbert,  to  the  table  placed  out  on 
the  green:  Harry  Gilbert  occupied  a  stool.  There 
was  a  striking  contrast  in  the  features  of  the  three 
old  men,  and  their  different  dispositions  might  be 
distinctly  traced  in  their  countenances. 

Etherd  Morris  was  dressed  in  a  dark  brown  coat, 
with  a  waistcoat  of  the  same  color :  he  wore  short 
gaiters,  and  his  head  was  quite  bald.  Etherd  had 
already  completed  his  eighty-seventh  year  ;  a  peev- 
ish pouting  of  his  under  lip  gave  an  unusual  ex- 
pression of  severity  to  his  morose  countenance,  and 
2 


14  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

made  him  appear  like  the  very  image  of  ill-temper. 
To  say  the  truth,  old  Etherd  was  as  ill-tempered  as 
he  seemed  to  he,  and  seldom  did  he  open  his  lips  to 
speak,  unless  it  were  to  complain,  or  to  give  a  short 
and  sharp  reply  to  some  question  proposed.  It  was, 
in  fact,  a  common  saying  among  the  people  of  the 
village,  "You  are  as  waspish  as  old  Etherd  Morris." 
This  peevish  disposition  kept  him  pretty  much  aloot 
from  his  neighbors,  and  the  young  people  avoided 
him  as  they  would  a  bunch  of  stinging-nettles. 
How  unlovely  is  age,  when  the  infirmities  of  the 
body  are  blended  with  a  bad  disposition. 

Frank  Redding  was  a  very  different  person  to 
Etherd  Morris,  for  his  red  face  was  cast  in  the  mould 
of  mirth,  and  his  little  laughing  eyes  were  for  ever 
brightening  at  the  jokes  which  passed  around 
Frank  had  a  jest  for  every  one ;  and  though  old  age 
and  folly  are  very  unfit  companions,  he  seemed  de- 
termined to  live  and  die  a  jester.  Alas  !  Frank  did 
not  realize  that  he  was  a  sinner,  and  how  awful  a 
thing  it  is  for  a  sinner  to  die,  not  having  repented 
of  his  sins,  and  become  a  true  Christian,  or  he 
would  not  have  formed  any  such  determination. 
"  What,  quoth  Frank  Redding!"  was  generally  the 
beginning  of  every  village  joke.  This  lively  and 
social  disposition  made  Frank  a  general  favorite, 
and  he  was  as  much  sought  after  as  Etherd  Morris 
was  avoided.  He  wore,  on  this  occasion,  a  blue 
coal,  red  plush  waistcoat,  leathern  small-clothes, 
grey  worsted  stockings,  and  large  buckles  in  his 
shoes.     His  hair  was  as  light  as  flax,  and  though  he- 


LAST    BIRTH-DAY.  1{> 

was  turned  seventy-eight,  he  usually  went  by  the 
name  of  young  Frank  Redding,  on  account  of  the 
liveliness  and  jocularity  of  his  temper.  Both  these 
persons  were  destitute  of  that  which  can  make  us 
cheerful  without  being  trifling,  and  serious  without 
being  gloomy — true  religion.  "  Her  ways  are  ways 
of  pleasantness.     The  fruit  of  the  Spirit  is  joy." 

The  light-hearted,  laughter-loving  disposition  of 
Frank  Redding,  and  the  churlish  spirit  of  Etherd 
Morris,  were  so  striking,  that  an  artist,  who  once 
visited  the  place,  made  a  drawing  of  the  aged  men, 
representing  the  one  as  Folly,  and  the  other  as  Ill- 
temper.  This  drawing,  after  it  had  found  its  way 
almost  all  round  the  village,  reached  the  hands  of 
Etherd  and  Frank,  but  produced  no  good  effect  upon 
either  ;  for  Frank  Redding  only  laughed  heartily  at 
the  joke,  as  he  called  it,  while  Etherd  Morris,  with 
more  than  his  common  ill-temper,  remarked  that 
"fools  are  always  busying  themselves  about  their 
neighbors."  Had  he  been  wise  unto  salvation,  he 
would  not  have  made  such  a  remark.  , 

Such  were  the  companions  with  whom  Alan  Gil- 
bert was  sitting  at  the  round  deal  table,  placed  on 
the  green  before  his  door. 

Old  people  are  fond  of  the  company  of  the  aged, 
otherwise  three  persons,  of  dispositions  so  different, 
would  never  have  sought  each  other.  It  was,  how- 
ever, the  birth-day  of  Alan  Gilbert ;  and  Etherd 
Morris  and  Prank  Redding  were  the  only  beings  in 
the  world  who  could  talk  with  him  of  what  had 
taken  place  in  the  village  threescore  and  ten  years 


16  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

•ago.  Alan  was  very  superior  in  knowledge  to  his 
•companions,  for  he  had  received  a  better  education 
than  they  ;  and  having  been  much  employed  up  at 
-the  hall  as  a  confidential  and  trust-worthy  man,  he 
had  associated  with  his  betters,  by  whom  he  was 
deservedly  respected.  He  married  young,  but  not 
happily — his  wife,  while  she  lived,  being  a  sore  trou- 
ble to  him;  but  she  died  in  a  few  years,  leaving  one 
child  behind  her.  Alan  very  seldom  spoke  of  her, 
and  when  he  did,  it  was  in  a  kindly  manner,  never 
alluding  to  her  faults.  For  the  last  thirty  years  of 
his  life  he  had  been  a  pious  character,  having  been 
taught  by  a  heavenly  instructer  to  discern  the  de- 
formity of  sin  in  the  glass  of  the  hoiy  law  of  God, 
and  the  grace  of  the  Redeemer  in  the  Gospel  of 
Jesus  Christ.  Seldom  did  he  omit,  on  any  proper 
occasion,  to  reprove  what  he  considered  wrong,  or 
to  encourage  what  he  believed  to  be  right*  by  a  text 
taken  from  the  Scriptures,  or  by  a  quotation  from 
some  of  the  godly  books  in  which  he  was  well 
read. 

"  Old  age  has  its  troubles,"  observed  Alan,  "  but 
we  are  mercifully  dealt  with.  To  hear  and  see  as 
we  do,  and  to  walk  about  at  our  years,  is  not  a  com- 
mon thing;  but  we  are  all  more  apt  to  repine  over 
what  God  takes  away  from  us,  than  we  are  to  rejoice 
over  what  he  has  left  us.  I  told  my  grandson  Harry, 
that  we  should  be  talking  over  old  times  together 
this  afternoon,  and  mayhap  he  might  pick  up  some- 
thing that  might  make  him  wiser  and  better.  We 
can  go  back  a  long  way,  for  we  have  tramped  about 


LAST    BIRTH-DAY.  17 

the  village  longer  than  any  that  are  in  it.  You, 
Etherd  Morris,  I  dare  say  can  remember  some 
things  that  I  have  forgotten.  I  could  not  have  been 
more  than  four  years  old  when  my  father  and  your 
father,  helped  to  put  out  the  fire  at  Benjamin 
Butler's." 

"  Ay,  Master  Gilbert,"  replied  Etherd,  "  you  was 
but  a  young  shaver  then,  though  I  must  'a  bin  a 
matter  of  eleven  or  twelve  year  old.  That  fire  was 
a  sad  job  to  Butler,  for  it  ruined  him  altogether." 

"  Well  do  I  remember,"  said  Alan,  "  the  broad 
blaze  as  it  burst  out  of  the  up-stairs  windows. 
When  the  roof  fell  in,  all  seemed  dark  for  a  moment, 
and  then  out  again  burst  the  flame,  and  ten  thou- 
sand sparks  fled  off  from  the  burning  rafters,  while 
a  black  smoke  seemed  to  go  up  to  the  very  clouds." 

"  I  have  heard  tell  of  that  fire,"  said  Frank, 
"though  I  can't  remember  it.  Josh  Perrins  told 
me,  Master  Gilbert,  that  your  father  pulled  out 
young  Butler,  just  afore  the  roof  fell  in.  It  would 
'a  bin  all  o'er  with  him  in  two  minutes  after." 

"  He  was,  indeed,  a  brand  snatched  from  the 
burning,"  said  Alan.  "  The  fire  brought  down 
Benjamin  Butler  a  good  deal,  but  it  did  him  good 
in  the  main.  He  had  got  too  high-minded  and  proud, 
and  'pride  goeth  before  destruction,  and  a  haughty 
spirit  before  a  fall.'  The  fire  taught  him  what  he 
didn't  seem  to  know — that  man,  even  in  his  pros- 
perity, is  a  poor  dependent  creature,  and  liable  every 
hour  to  danger  and  to  death.  I  take  it,  Benjamin 
was  a  better  man  after  that  fire  than  he  ever  was 
2* 

Kt  \ 


18  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

before,  for  God  was  pleased  to  bless  the  affliction 
to  the  humbling  of  his  mind,  so  that  he  lived  closer 
to  God  ;  and  I  have  heard  him  say  myself,  that  he 
was  thankful  for  many  things,  but  especially  for  the 
'fire  that  was  made  an  instrument  to  drive  him  to 
his  Bible  for  consolation." 

"  I  don't  wonder  that  young  Butler  was  thankful 
in  having  his  life  saved,"  said  Frank  ;  "  but  I  can't 
understand  how  old  Butler  could  be  thankful  in 
having  his  house  burnt  all  to  a  cinder.  I  reckon 
he  wasn't  very  thankful  at  the  time  when  it  hap- 
pened." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Alan.  "  '  No  chastening  foi 
the  present  seemeth  to  be  joyous,  but  grievous ;  ne- 
vertheless, afterward  it  yieldeth  the  peaceable  fruit 
of  righteousness,  unto  them  which  are  exercised 
thereby.'  Whether  we  are  visited  by  fire  or  by 
water,  by  plague,  pestilence,  or  famine,  it  is  still  a 
precious  truth,  that  l  all  things  work  together  for 
good,  to  them  that  love  God.'  Remember,  Harry, 
that  no  good  comes  of  pride,  and  that  the  heaviest 
.afflictions  can  be  turned,  by  the  grace  of  God,  into 
^blessings." 

While  Alan  Gilbert  was  speaking,  Etherd  had 
.stooped  down  to  fasten  a  button  of  his  gaiter,  which 
liad  come  undone:  the  strange  faces  he  made  in 
*doing  this,  highly  diverted  Frank.  "  We  can't 
■stoop  as  we  used  to  do,  Etherd,"  said  he ;  "  you 
look  for  all  the  world  as  if  a  poker  was  run  down 
your  back ;  better  let  me  fasten  your  gaiter." 

*  No,  no  ;"  replied  Etherd,  holding  up  his  head  j 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  19 

c  you're  too  full  of  your  pranks ;  yon  would  only 
fasten  one  button,  and  unfasten  two.  Never,  sure, 
was  your  fellow.  You're  as  bad  as  Bill  Willets, 
though  you  are  fifty  years  older.  You  remember 
Willet's  father,  Master  Gilbert !" 

"  O  yes,  I  remember  him  well  enough,"  replied 
Alan  ;  "  an  honest  man,  and  a  good  neighbor  ;  but 
his  son,  I  fear,  will  never  be  so  steady  as  he  was. 
When  Willet's  father  lived  by  the  lime  trees,  GrirT- 
eth  lived  at  the  Unked*  House.  Poor  fellow !  he 
was  another  that  was  born  to  see  trouble." 

Harry  Gilbert,  who  knew  the  Unked  House  very 
well,  asked  his  grandfather  why  they  did'nt  build 
t  up  afresh,  for  the  roof  was  falling  in,  and  not  a 
whole  pane  of  glass  was  left  in  the  window. 

"  Mayhap,  if  it  was  to  be  repaired,  nobody  would 
Jive  at  it,"  said  Frank  Redding. 

"  And  why  not  ?"  inquired  Harry. 

"  Master  Gilbert  will  tell  you,"  said  Frank ;  "  but 
it's  no  pleasant  tale  to  listen  to :  it's  long  since  I 
have  heard  it  spoke  on." 

"Jonas  Griffeth,"  said  Alan,  "lost  his  wife,  and 
lived  with  his  two  sons  in  the  Unked  House ;  but 
it  was  a  pretty  place  then,  and  looked  as  if  some- 
Dody  belonged  to  it.  When  the  sun  shone  on  the 
white-washed  wall,  when  the  roses  were  in  full 
olow,  and  the  bees  hummed  in  the  garden,  no  one 
would  have  thought  that  ever  it  would  become  such 


*  Unked  is  a  word  seldom  used  at  the  present  day,  except  by 
.  gnorant  or  vulgar  people ;  it  means,  deserted,  solitary. 


20  ALAN   GILBERT'S 

a  wilderness  of  a  place  as  it  is  now.  I  don't  know 
how  it  was,  but  Jonas,  though  a  worthy  man,  like 
too  many  people  in  the  world,  didn't  bring  up  his 
sons  as  he  ought  to  have  done.  Solomon  says, 
1  He  that  spareth  the  rod  hateth  his  son  :  but  he  that 
loveth  him  chasteneth  him ;'  and  poor  Griffeth  let 
his  sons  have  their  way  in  every  thing.  Their 
passions  were  not  under  control,  and  the  least  trifle 
excited  them  to  anger.  How  it  was  that  they  lived 
to  be  more  than  twenty  years  old,  without  any 
serious  accident  taking  place,  I  can't  tell ;  but  every 
body  thought  it  a  wonder.  '  He  that  hath  no  rule 
over  his  own  spirit  is  like  a  city  that  is  broken 
down,  and  without  walls.'  " 

"  They  were  always  two  passionate  young  dogs," 
said  Etherd,  "  and  Jonas  had  right  little  peace  with 
'em." 

"  True,"  continued  Alan,  "  he  found  out  when  it 
was  too  late,  that  though  he  might  have  bent  the 
twig,  he  couldn't  bend  the  tree ;  they  were  too 
many  for  him  when  they  were  grown  up.  It  was 
one  dark  stormy  night,  when  Jonas  had  just  gone 
up  stairs  to  bed,  that  his  sons  had  a  quarrel  about  a 
fishing-rod.  Words  got  higher  and  higher  ;  at  last 
they  came  to  blows,  and  Bill  turned  his  brother  Sam 
out  of  the  house.  They  were  like  two  furies:  Sam 
picked  up  the  coal  hammer,  which  lay  under  the 
shed,  and  banged  away  at  the  door  till  it  flew  open, 
when  Bill,  snatching  up  a  case-knife  from  the  table, 
ran  to  stop  his  brother  from  coming  in.  He  who 
knows  all  things,  only  knows  whether  Bill  Griffeth 


LAST    BIRTH-DAY.  21 

meant  really  to  do  his  brother  a  mischief;  and  I 
will  not  take  on  me  to  judge  him,  but  he  brandished 
his  knife  in  the  door-way,  till  his  brother  cried  out, 
{  You  have  done  for  me.'  Mayhap,  even  then,  if 
Bill  had  gone  to  his  brother  directly,  the  mischief 
might  have  been  in  part  prevented  ;  but  he  was  in 
too  great  a  passion  to  care  about  him,  and  poor 
Jonas  was  too  much  accustomed  to  his  sons'  quar- 
rels to  interfere.  The  wind  howled  round  the  house, 
so  that  a  common  noise  would  not  have  been  heard; 
no  wonder,  then,  that  the  groans  of  Sam  Griffeth 
were  disregarded.  In  the  morning,  about  six  o'clock, 
Jonas  got  up,  and  no  sooner  did  he  go  out  of  the 
back-door,  than  he  saw  his  son  Samuel  lying  in  his 
blood  under  the  kid-pile.  What  a  sight  for  a  father  ! 
and  what  a  sight  for  Bill  Griffeth  !" 

"It  was  an  ugly  job  altogether,"  said  Frank 
Redding. 

Harry  Gilbert  asked  his  grandfather  if  young 
Griffeth  was  quite  dead. 

"  Oh  yes,"  replied  Alan ;  "  and  what  a  state  to  die 
m!  Sam  Griffeth  was  dead,  sure  enough,  and  his 
brother  was  taken  up  and  tried  for  his  life,  for  wil- 
ful murder.  The  jury,  however,  brought  it  in  man- 
slaughter, and  Bill's  life  was  spared ;  but  he  never 
held  up  his  head  after.  His  father  died  of  a  broken 
heart,  if  ever  man  did  ;  and  Bill  Griffeth  pined  away, 
day  after  day,  till  he  died  too ;  and  since  then  no 
one  has  lived  in  the  house." 

"Unked  it  is,  and  unked  it's  likely  to  be,"  said 
Etherd  Morris.    "  The  house  is  little  better  than  a 


22  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

heap  of  rubbish,  and  the  garden  is  one  bed  of  sting 
ing-nertles." 

"  Ay,"  continued  Alan,  "  it's  a  monument  to  re- 
mind us  all  of  the  mischief  and  sin  of  anger  and 
unbridled  passion.  '  He  that  is  slow  to  anger  is 
better  than  the  mighty;  and  he  that  ruleth  his 
spirit,  than  he  that  taketh  a  city.'  I  hope,  Harry, 
it  will  be  a  lesson  to  you,  and  that  you  will  never 
pass  the  Unked  House  without  being  reminded  of 
it.  What  a  different  lesson  do  we  learn  in  the 
Scriptures ; c  Let  all  bitterness,  and  wrath,  and  anger, 
and  clamor,  and  evil  speaking,  be  put  away  from 
you,  with  all  malice.  And  be  ye  kind  one  to  an- 
other, tender-hearted,  forgiving  one  another,  even 
as  God  for  Christ's  sake  hath  forgiven  you.'  " 

Harry  Gilbert  kept  looking  toward  the  Unked 
House,  for  he  had  never  heard  the  narrative  of  it  be- 
fore. It  was  very  visible  that  the  account  had  made 
an  impression  on  his  mind,  and  Alan  hoped  that,  in 
years  to  come,  his  grandson's  passions  would  be 
mercifully  controlled. 

How  long  Harry  would  have  sat  musing  on  what 
he  had  heard  it  is  hard  to  say  j  but  Farmer  Brookes's 
black  and  white  greyhound  came  over  the  green. 
Harry  was  fond  of  the  dog,  and  jumping  up,  he 
soon  scampered  away  to  join  his  favorite. 


LAST  BIRTH-DAY.  23 

i 


CHAPTER    III. 


THE  HALL. 

The  Hall — Old  Squire  Norton —  Bridgens,  the  Butler— Madam 
Norton — Advantages  of  serving  God  —  The  Young  Squire — 
The  Bironet's  Son  —  Colonel  Snyders  —  The  Fox  chase  —  Horse 
killed — Colonel's  Death — Snlcey  Larkin  —  Lawyer  Piggots — 
Oshorn.  the  Maltster  — The  Forged  Will— Childers,  the  Jockey— 
The  Four  Black  Horses. 

In  a  Utile  time  the  greyhound  lightly  bounded 
over  a  fence,  and  Harry  returned  and  sealed  himself 
on  his  stool.  "That  is  a  princely  dwelling,"  said 
Alan  Gilbert,  looking  intently  on  the  fine  old  gothic 
hall  in  the  distance,  belonging  to  Squire  Norton* 
"but  the  hahiiations  of  men  are  but  'houses  of  clay, 
whose  foundation  is  in  the  dust,  which  are  crushed 
before  the  moth.'"  The  sun  was  shining  on  the 
antique  ornaments  and  grotesque*  figures  which 
decorated  the  upper  part  of  the  spacious  building; 
and  the  rooks,  hovering  around,  were  disiinctly 
seen,  and  faintly  heard,  as  they  flew  backward  and 
forward  over  the  tall  elm  trees,  where  their  nests 
were  thickly  spread.  "In  days  that  are  gone  by," 
continued  Alan,  "I  have  seen  a  great  deal  more  in 
that  hall  than  what  pleased  me,  though  it  ill  be- 
comes a  man  to  speak  amiss  of  those  from  whom 
he  has  gained  his  bread,    I  hope  my  duty  was  done 


*  Strange,  uncouth. 


24  ALAN  GILBERT'S 

to  those  I  served,  and  that  I  never  ate  the  bread  of 
idleness;  but  in  those  days  many  things  took  place 
which  give  me  no  pleasure  to  think  upon  now. 
Old  Squire  Norton  was  a  better  man  than  his  son 
has  been,  and  after  the  old  Squire  died,  the  hall  be- 
came a  different  place  to  what  it  was  before." 

{{Ay,  ay!  indeed  it  did,"  said  Frank  Redding; 
"the  young  Squire  kept  the  game  alive,  and  many  a 
merry  bout*  of  it  have  I  had  myself  in  the  kitchen. 
Bridgens,  the  butler,  was  a  hearty  old  boy,  and 
liked  to  make  a  friend  comfortable." 

"  Yes  he  did,"  muttered  Etherd  Morris,  "  but 
what  did  it  all  come  to  ?  He  treated  his  friends  so 
well,  that  he  got  turned  out  of  doors  himself  for  his 
pains.  He  quarrelled  with  me  once  about  nothing 
at  all,  and  I  told  him  that  many  a  butler  had  been 
bundled  out  of  a  house  a  great  deal' quicker  than  he 
entered  it ;  and  so  it  was  with  him,  for,  before  three 
months  had  rolled  over  his  head,  he  was  no  more  a 
butler  than  I  was." 

"Old  Madam  Norton,"  resumed  Alan  Gilbert, 
"  was  a  good  woman,  and  visited  the  poor ;  and 
many  a  loaf  of  bread  and  noggin  of  broth  did  she 
send  to  those  in  distress.  She  used  to  say,  after  all 
was  done  that  could  be  done  for  the  poor  perishing 
body,  that  '  charity  to  the  soul,'  was  the  '  soul  of 
charity;'  and  I  have  known  her  read  the  Bible,  and 
pray  by  the  bedside  of  the  poorest  old  creature  in 
the  village,  when  not  a  soul  knew  any  thing  about 


Drinking  frolic. 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  25 

it  but  myself.  The  old  Squire,  too,  had  always  his 
hand  in  his  pocket ;  he  built  the  alms-houses,  and 
left  a  piece  of  ground  to  support  them,  as  may  be 
seen  registered  on  the  monument  near  the  commu- 
nion-table in  the  church.  '  Blessed  is  he  that  con- 
sidered the  poor;  the  Lord  will  deliver  him  in  time 
of  trouble.'  That  text  of  Scripture,  'The  Lord  will 
strengthen  him  upon  the  bed  of  languishing,  and 
make  all  his  bed  in  his  sickness,'  was  made  good  in 
his  case,  for  he  was  enabled  patiently  to  endure  his 
afflictions,  and  died  as  a  Christian  man  should  die, 
in  humble  hope  of  an  everlasting  life  through  the 
merits  of  his  Saviour  Jesds  Christ,  in  peace  with 
God,  and  in  charity  with  all  mankind.  But,  as  I 
said,  many  a  thing  has  happened  in  that  hall  that  I 
did  not  like.  There  is  a  peace,  and  a  joy,  and  a 
glory  round  the  habitation  where  God  is  worship- 
ped ;  but  that  peace,  and  joy,  and  glory  departed 
when  the  old  Squire  died  ;  and  since  then,  riot,  and 
gaming,  and  wassailing*  have  been  the  order  of  the 
day  and  night.  It  is  some  time  now  since  I  entered 
the  hall,  and  I  have  no  wish  to  be  there  again,  for 
I  am  told  that  there  are  strange  doings  between  the 
Squire  and  the  baronet's  son.  When  folks  can 
pull  straws  out  of  a  wheat  rick  for  fifty  pounds 
a-side,  or  throw  dice  for  a  hundred,  there  must  be 
money  lost  somewhere,  and  it  may  turn  out,  when 
little  expected,  that  the  Squire  is  not  so  rich  as  he 
is  thought  to  be." 

*  Drinking. 

3 


26  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

"  He'll  come  to  the  dogs,  yet,"  said  Elherd,  peev* 
ishly,  "  and  when  he  does,  more  will  be  giad  than 
sorry  ;  he  never  was  a  poor  man's  friend." 

u  May  he  find  more  mercy  than  he  has  shown." 
added  A.lan  Gilbert,  "  though  I  am  afraid  a  dark 
day  and  a  sorrowful  night  are  coming  over  him. 
Harry  Gilbert,  remember  that  sin  bringeth  a  man  to 
dishonor,  whether  he  be  rich  or  poor.  God's  grace 
will  make  the  poorest  man  rich,  and  without  it  the 
richest  mart  is  poor  indeed." 

Harry  looked  up  in  the  face  of  his  grandfather, 
but  not  a  syllable  escaped  him.  He  had  heard  now 
and  then  a  word  dropped  from  one  or  other  of  the 
villagers,  about  the  old  hall  and  its  inmates,  so  that 
he  listened  with  boyish  curiosity  to  the  continued 
remarks  of  his  grandfather. 

"  Many  strange  characters,"  said  Alan,  "  have 
passed  through  the  old  oak  door,  thickly  studded 
with  iron  knobs,  to  revel  in  the  spacious  chambers 
of  the  place;  but  not  all  the  revelry  in  the  world 
can  make  the  wicked  happy,  *  The  path  of  the  just 
is  as  a  shining  light,  that  shineth  more  and  more 
unto  the  perfect  day ;  but  the  path  of  the  wicked  is 
as  darkness,  they  know  not  at  what  they  stumble. 
You  both  of  you  knew  Colonel  Snyders,  who  put 
up  the  pillar  yonder  on  the  brow  of  the  hill.  That 
pilhir  tells  all  who  look  upon  it  of  the  battles  in 
which  the  Colonel  fought,  and  the  victories  he 
shared  ;  but  it  does  not  tell  of  one  victory  which  he 
ever  gained  over  himself,  for  he  was  one  of  the 
proudest  and  most  unmerciful  of  men.    *  He  that 


LAST    BIRTH-DAY.  27 

ruleth  his  spirit  is  better  than  he  that  taketh  a 
city.'  " 

"  He  was  worth  a  mint  of  money,  though,"  said 
Frank  Redding,  "which  he  got  somewhere  across 
the  seas." 

"  True,"  rejoined  Alan,  "  but  '  what  is  a  man  pro- 
fited if  he  shall  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his 
own  soul  V  If  he  had  read  his  Bible  he  might  have 
put  his  riches  out  to  better  use  than  he  did.  '  Charge 
them  that  are  rich  in  this  world  that  they  be  not 
high-minded,  nor  trust  in  uncertain  riches,  but  in 
the  living  God,  who  giveth  us  richly  all  things  to 
enjoy ;  that  they  be  rich  in  good  works,  ready  to 
distribute,  willing  to  communicate.'  If  ever  Colonel 
Snyders  read  these  words,  he  very  little  regarded 
them,  for  he  was  high-minded,  and  trusted  in  his 
riches,  and  few  people  ever  heard  of  his  parting 
with  them." 

"  He  was  a  scape-grace,  true  enough,"  said  Elherd 
Morris,  "and  as  hot  as  the  foreign  country  he  came 
from.  I  once  saw  him  about  to  leap  at  a  fence  in  a 
fox-chase,  and  because  his  horse  was  not  so  hot 
upon  it  as  he  was,  and  shyed  a  little,  down  jumps 
the  Colonel  to  the  ground,  and  pulls  out  a  pistol, 
and  the  poor  beast  fell  into  the  ditch  in  a  minute, 
with  a  bullet  through  his  head." 

"That was  just  like  him,"  said  Frank  Redding, 
"as  hot  as  pepper;  a  word  and  a  blow,  and  the 
blow  came  first." 

"  Just  as  the  horse  fell,"  continued  old  Etherd, 
"  the  huntsman  blew  his  horn,   and  the  spirited 


28  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

creature  not  being  dead  got  up  on  his  fore-feet,  but 
soon  fell  again,  gave  a  groan,  and  died.  The  Colonel 
swore  a  tremendous  oath,  and  walked  away." 

"  The  history  of  Colonel  Snyders,"  resumed 
Alan,  "would  be  one  from  which  something  might 
be  learned.  I  am  told,  that  when  a  young  man  he 
was  every  thing  a  young  man  ought  to  be  ;  but  he 
went  abroad  to  grow  rich,  and  his  riches  made  him 
poor,  for  they  made  him  wicked  and  unhappy. 
He  brought  home,  after  a  long  absence,  plenty  of 
money  and  money's  worth ;  but  he  brought  not 
back  what  he  took  out  with  him,  which  was  above 
all  price— a  peaceful  conscience  and  a  sound  con- 
stitution. His  constitution  was  destroyed ;  and  as 
for  his  conscience,  may  we  all  in  mercy  be  spared 
such  a  companion!  I  was  with  the  Colonel,  tend- 
ing him,  when  he  died ;  and  such  a  death-bed,  I 
trust,  with  God's  blessing,  I  shall  never  see  again. 
What  took  place  there  has  never  passed  my  lips, 
and  it  never  shall.  Remember,  Hany,  that  in  life 
and  in  death,  '  there  is  no  peace  to  the  wicked  :' 
joy  and  peace  are  to  be  found  only  in  believing." 

"  He  had  a  deal  to  answer  for,"  said  Etherd 
Morris. 

"  Bad  as  the  Colonel  was,  I  question  if  he  was 
worse  than  old  Lawyer  Piggots,"  said  Frank. 
"  The  old  rogue  slept  on  a  bed  of  feathers  himself, 
but  he  made  a  bed  of  briers  and  thorns  for  many 
poorer  folks.  I  take  it,  he  did  the  Squire  but  little 
good ;  howsomever  he's  gone  to  his  reckoning." 

"And  if  he  is  reckoned  with  as  he  used  to  reckon 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  mZM 

with  others,"  said  Etherdj  "it  will  go  hard  with 
him." 

"  Piggots,"  said  Alan,  "  lived  to  be  a  trouble  to 
himself,  and  with  all  his  money  I  do  not  know  that 
he  had  a  real  friend  in  the  world.  When  Osborn, 
the  maltster,  died,  leaving  a  widow  and  one  child 
behind  him,  Piggots  comes  skulking  to  me,  one 
night ;  for,  bad  as  he  was,  I  expect  he  would  have 
been  ashamed  to  come  on  such  an  errand  in  broad 
day.  Bad  men  love  '  darkness  rather  than  light,' 
because  their  deeds  are  evil,  and  so  it  was  with 
Lawyer  Piggots.  Says  he  to  me,  '  Master  Gilbert, 
I  want  to  consult  you  on  a  little  business  that  may 
do  you  some  good ;  but,  first  of  all,  you  must  give 
me  your  word,  as  an  honest  man,  that  you  will 
never,  while  I  live,  mention  it  to  any  body  else.' 
1  Why,'  says  I,  '  Mr.  Piggots,  I  am  not  given  to 
prate  about  things  that  don't  belong  to  me ;  but  if 
you  will  be  better  satisfied  with  having  my  promise, 
I  will  give  it  to  you.'  Little  did  I  think  what  the 
miserable  knave  was  about  to  propose  to  me.  I 
did  wrong  in  promising  so  rashly." 

"  He  would  have  sold  his  own  soul  for  money," 
said  Frank ;  and  I  dare  say  you  found  him  not  over 
nice  about  matters  if  he  had  a  chance  of  getting 
any.    But  what  did  the  old  fox  say  to  you?" 

"  He  said,"  replied  Alan,  " '  What  I  want  you  to 
do,  Master  Gilbert,  is  this,  just  to  put  your  name  to 
this  bit  of  paper,  and  then  I  can  make  you  some 
pounds  richer  than  you  are.' " 

"I  would  have  seen  him  swinging  on  Tyburn 
3* 


30  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

tree,  with  his  paper  in  his  hand,"  said  Frank,  "  be 
fore  I  would  'a  done  it  for  him :  he  was  a  snake  in 
the  grass,  if  ever  there  was  one.  But  go  on.  Master 
Gilbert." 

"  When  he  came  a  little  nearer,  with  the  paper 
in  his  hand,"  said  Alan,  "I  saw  the  words  'last* 
will  and  testament.'    Why,  thinks  I  to  myself,  he 
is  never  going  to  ask  me  to  sign  his  will." 

"No  danger,"  cried  out  Etherd  Morris;  "I 
have  a  bit  of  a  notion  that  he  had  other  game  in 
view." 

"  So  it  appeared,"  said  Alan  Gilbert.  "  He  takes 
a  pen  out  of  an  inkhorn,  that  he  carried  with  him, 
and  puts  it  in  my  hand.  '  But  what  is  the  paper 
about,  Mr.  Piggots?'  says  I;  '  Oh,  nothing  of  much 
moment,'  said  he,  in  a  coaxing  way ;  '  but  Osborn 
has  died  without  a  will,  and  things  will  be  all  sixes 
and  sevens;  so  I  thought  that — '  'If  you  think,' 
said  I,  cutting  him  short,  'that  Alan  Gilbert  will  act 
like  a  villain,  and  bring  on  his  soul  the  curse  of  the 
widow  and  the  fatherless,  for  all  the  gold  you  have 
got  together,  you  are  mistaken.'  When  he  saw  that 
he  could  do  nothing  with  me,  he  pretended  that  he 
only  meant  to  do  a  kindness  to  the  widow,  and  that 
it  did  not  signify  a  farthing  to  him  whether  the 
thing  was  done  or  not.  Just  then  somebody  knock- 
ed at  the  door,  when  he  shuffled  the  paper  into  his 
pocket ;  but,  in  taking  out  his  handkerchief,  as  he 
left  the  house,  down  fell  the  paper,  and  he  went  off 
without  it.  I  do  not  know  that  I  did  wrong  in  ex- 
amining it;  fori  suspected  he  was  plotting  some 


LAST   BtRTH-DAY.  31 

evil  against  Widow  Osborn,  and  I  thought  that 
paper  might  explain  it,  and  I  might  perhaps  prevent 
it.  Besides,  as  it  was  the  paper  he  wished  me  to 
sign,  I  thought  I  was  justified  in  looking  into  it.  I 
did  so,  and  found  that  in  the  will  he  had  manu- 
factured, he  had  left  the  whole  of  John  Osborn's 
property  to  himself,  on  payment  of  a  few  pounds 
yearly  to  the  widow." 

"  Just  as  I  thought,"  said  Etherd.  "  I  would  have 
pasted  the  paper  against  the  church  door,  that  the 
whole  parish  might  have  seen  it." 

"  It  would  have  served  him  just  right,"  said 
Frank. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Alan  Gilbert ;  "  I  had  given  him 
my  promise  ;  and  in  that  I  did  wrong,  as  I  have 
already  said  ;  but  his  being  a  dishonest  man  would 
not  justify  me  in  taking  vengeance  upon  him.  '  Ven 
geahce  is  mine,  I  will  repay,  saith  the  Lord'.  So  I 
went  to  him,  and  told  him  that  if  any  will  was 
produced,  I  would  inform  against  him  directly. 
Harry,"  continued  Alan,  turning  to  his  grandson, 
"  while  you  live  in  the  world,  '  provide  things  hon- 
est in  the  sight  of  all  men,'  for  a  dishonest  penny 
will  do  you  more  harm  than  an  honest  pound  will 
do  you  good." 

"There  was  another  younger  chap,"  said  Etherd, 
"  who  used  to  be  at  the  hall  a  great  deal ;  but  he 
run  to  another  country,  for  they  said  that  this  was 
too  hot  to  hold  him." 

"  You  mean  Childers,  the  jockey,"  said  Alan ; 
"  though  but  a  young  man  in  years  he  was  old  in 


32  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

iniquity.  He  took  in  the  Squire  at  last ;  for  he  sold 
him  four  beautiful  black  horses,  but  the  Squire  hadn't 
had  them  above  a  week  before  they  had  all  white 
feet,  and  several  stars  on  their  bodies,which  Childers 
had  colored  over.  But  what  did  it  all  come  to? 
Childers  committed  forgery,  and  was  obliged,  as  you 
say,  to  run  his  country.  Deceit  and  dishonesty  may 
lead  a  man  to  the  gallows,  but  they  will  never  add 
to  his  happiness  in  life,  nor  his  peace  in  death.  Give 
a  man  the  whole  world,  and  let  him  have  such  com- 
panions as  Colonel  Snyders,  Lawyer  Piggots,  and 
Childers,  the  jockey,  and  he  will  soon  be  in  a  pitia- 
ble plight.  '  He  that  walketh  with  wise  men  shall 
be  wise;  but  a  companion  of  fools  shall  be  destroy- 
ed.5 Harry,  mind  your  companions  !  One  good  one 
is  worth  his  weight  in  gold,  and  one  bad  one  may 
lead  you  to  destruction.  '  Evil  communications 
corrupt  good  manners.  With  the  clean  thou  shalt 
be  clean,  and  with  the  froward  thou  shalt  learn 
frowardness.'" 

Alan  here  walked  into  his  cottage,  and  thus,  for 
a  few  minutes,  put  an  end  to  the  conversation. 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


THE  CLUB. 

The  Club— The  Procession— Alan  Gilbert's  Son— Alan  Gilbert's 
Father  —  The  Peaceful  End  of  the  Godly  —  Quarrel  between  Tom 
Morton  and  Andrew  Taylor  —  Jem  Hockley  —  Fight — Death  of 
Tom  Morton — Evil  Effects  of  Drunkenness — Dog-fight  between 
a  bull-dog  and  a  mastiff — Joe  and  Bill  Maston — Forgiveness — Use 
of  the  Club. 

When  Alan  returned  to  his  friends,  Frank  Red- 
ding was  talking  about  the  village  club.  "  It's  a  pret- 
ty sight,  now,"  said  he,  "though  not  what  it  used  to 
be,  to  see  our  club  march  up  the  village,  on  a  sun 
shiny  day,  from  the  inn  to  the  church,  with  a  band 
of  music  afore  it.  Every  man  dressed  in  his  Sun- 
day clothes,  with  a  long  staff  in  his  hand,  and  a 
bunch  of  blue  ribands  in  his  hat ;  and  then  the 
stewards,  with  their  broad  blue  sashes,  and  their 
staves  with  a  dove  at  the  top.  What  with  the  club 
walking,  and  the  stewards,  and  the  staves,  and  the 
blue  ribands,  and  the  sashes,  and  the  band  of  music, 
and  the  ringing  of  the  church  bells,  and  the  sunshine, 
and  the  crowds  of  people,  —  all  together,  it's  about 
as  pretty  a  sight  as  any  that  is  to  be  seen." 

"  It  makes  noise  enough,  for  the  matter  o'  that," 
said  old  Etherd ;  "  but  I  don't  see  what  that  does 
for  us." 

"  We  three  are  the  oldest  members  of  the  club 


34 


ALAN    GILBERT'S 


now,"  said  Frank.    "  You  must  'a  bin  in  it  many  a 
long  year,  Etberd  Morris." 

"  Ay,"  replied  Etherd  ;  "  and  mayhap  if  I  had  gone 
out  of  it  many  a  day  ago,  it  might  'a  bin  as  well  for 
me,  for  all  the  good  I  gels  by  it.  The  members  now 
are  a  set  o'  young  greenhorns,  that  don't  know  what's 
due  to  their  betters.  I  hate  to  sit  down  with  a  lot 
o'  youngsters,  who  are  never  easy  without  they  can 
take  the  lead  in  every  thing.  It  hadn't  used  to  be 
so  when  John  Chambers,  William  Bailey,  Joseph 
Horton,  and  such  as  them  were  in  it ;  but  they  are 
gone,  and  young  folks  fancy  themselves  to  be  a  deal 
wiser  than  their  fathers." 

•  "It's  too  much  the  case,"  said  Alan  ;  "  young  peo- 
ple are  apt  to  forget  themselves.  We  have  seen  many 
a  tall  fellow  hold  up  his  head  high  at  the  club,  who 
now  lies  low  enough  beneath  the  green  sod.  Your 
father,  Harry,  was  once  in  the  club,  but  —  "  Alan 
paused  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  drew  the  back 
of  his  hand  across  his  eyes.  Harry's  father  had 
been  a  sad  trouble  to  Alan.  Led  away  by  bad  com- 
panions, he  became  very  wild,  and  ran  a  short  career. 
After  using  his  father  ill,  and  breaking  the  heart  of 
his  wife,  he  went  to  sea,  where  he  died,  leaving  his 
son  Harry  with  his  grandfather,  Alan  Gilbert.  This 
was  the  keenest  affliction  that  ever  betided  Alan 
Gilbert.  In  this  world  of  sin  and  sorrow  there  are 
many  trials,  but  no  poisoned  arrow  is  more  bitter 
than  that  which  is  planted  in  the  heart  of  a  parent 
by  an  undutiful  child. 

Before  Alan's  son  died,  at  sea,  he  became  sensible 


LAST  BIRTH-DAY.  35 

of  his  errors,  and  sent  home  a  penitent  letter  to  his 
father,  begging  his  forgiveness.  Alan  replied  to  the 
letter  the  same  day  that  he  received  it,  sending  his 
forgiveness  and  blessing  to  his  son  ;  but  neither  the 
one  nor  the  other  reached  him  in  time,  for  his  body 
was  committed  to  the  deep,  and  his  spirit  had  re- 
turned to  God  who  gave  it.  Though  Alan  thought 
much  of  his  son,  he  seldom  spoke  of  him,  and  when 
he  did,  it  was  sure  to  bring  the  tears  into  his  eyes. 
The  news  that  his  penitent  son  was  a  changed 
character  before  he  died,  in  some  degree  mitigated 
his  sorrow. 

"  It's  no  use  thinking,  Master  Gilbert,  of  what's 
gone  by,"  said  Frank  Redding,  seeing  Alan's  emo- 
tion ;  "your  son  was  better  than  many  that  I  have 
known,  and  we  can't  any  of  us  live  for  ever.  I'll  be 
bound  he  did  his  duty  as  a  sailor." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Alan,  striving  to  get  the  better 
of  his  feelings,  "  I  trust  he  found  mercy  where  we 
all  ought  to  look  for  it,  day  and  night,  in  youth  and 
in  old  age.  We  were  speaking  of  the  club:  my 
father  walked  with  it  to  the  church  only  a  fortnight 
before  he  died,  and  I  remember  well  the  remarks  he 
made  on  the  club  sermon.  It  was  in  that  cottage, 
Harry,  where  Walter  Stevens  now  lives,  and  where 
I  was  born,  that  your  great  grandfather  died." 

Harry  turned  his  eyes  toward  the  cottage  of  Wal- 
ter Stevens,  while  Alan  Gilbert  thus  went  on  : 

*It  often  happens  that  sickness  sours  the  temper, 
an<*  makes  the  poor  sufferer  uncomfortable  to  him- 
self, and  to  those  around  him  ;  but  it  was  not  so 


36  ALAN    GILBERT  S 

with  my  father  when  he  was  laid  on  his  death-bed. 
He  was  satisfied  that  God  would  do  that  which  was 
right  concerning  him;  and  whether  he  was  at  ease  or 
in  pain,  he  was  always  ready  to  rejoice.  Though 
doubtless  many  Christians,  like  him,  have  lived  a 
life  of  hope ;  few  have  died  a  death  of  more  exult- 
ation." 

"  I  saw  him,"  said  Frank,  "  the  day  afore  he  died ; 
and  I  ought  to  have  remembered  better  than  I  have 
done  what  he  said  to  me :  he  was  a  cheerful  old 
man,  though  he  was  so  very  religious." 

"  My  father,"  continued  Alan,  "  when  he  first 
took  to  his  bed,  made  me  pin  up  a  paper  to  the 
tester,*  with  this  text  of  Scripture  written  on  it,  'Not 
unto  us,  O  Lord,  not  unto  us,  but  unto  thy  name 
give  glory,  for  thy  mercy  and  for  thy  truth's  sake y 
and  scarcely  did  an  hour  pass  without  his  repeating 
it  over.  I  did  not  think  so  much  of  divine  things 
then  as  I  ought  to  have  done,  and  was  ignorant  of 
much  that  God  has  since  taught  me  in  his  mercy  ; 
but  when,  the  night  before  my  father  died,  I  looked 
on  his  pale  face,  nolding  a  candle  in  my  hand,  I 
thought  it  was  a  blessed  thing  to  die  happy  ;  and  I 
felt  sure  that  the  pilgrim  who  was  about  to  leave 
the  earth  would  soon  be  in  heaven." 

"  And  did  he  die  happy  ?"  inquired  Harry  Gil- 
bert." 

"  He  did,"  replied  Alan,  "  and  no  terrors  of 
death  were  permitted  to  fall  upon  him.    He  asked 


*  The  top  of  a  bedstead 


LAST   BIRTH- DAY.  37 

me  to  read  him  a  psalm  just  before  his  death  ;  and 
then  he  said  to  me,  'Alan,  improve  the  time,  for 
you  will  be  an  old  man  before  you  are  aware.'  True 
enough  were  the  words  he  spoke,  for  how  swiftly 
have  my  days  glided  away,  and  what  has  been  the 
sum  of  them  !" 

"And  what  else  did  he  say?"  asked  Harry  Gil- 
bert, with  his  eyes  fixed  on  his  grandfather. 

"I  will  tell  you,"  replied  Alan;  "he  said,  'If 
God  had  not  been  more  merciful  to  me  than  I  have 
been  to  myself,  I  should  not  now  be  blessed  with 
his  presence ;  as  it  is,  though  dying,  I  can  rejoice, 
for  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth,  and  that  he 
shall  stand  at  the  latter  day  upon  the  earth,  and 
though  after  my  skin  worms  destroy  this  body,  yet 
in  my  flesh  shall  I  see  God.'  " 

"No  wonder  that  he  died  happy,"  said  Frank,  "  for 
he  never  did  any  harm  that  I  have  heard  tell  on." 

"  He  knew  himself  to  be  a  sinner,"  said  Alan, 
"  but  he  believed  that  his  sins  were  pardoned  for 
Christ's  sake.  '  There  is  not  a  deed,'  said  he  to  me, 
'  that  I  have  ever  done,  or  a  thought  that  has  ever 
passed  through  my  mind,  on  which  I  now  dare  de- 
pend. No  ;  all  has  been  mingled  with  infirmity  and 
sin;  and  that  I  am  now  enabled  to  leave  the  world 
in  peace,  is  owing  to  the  grace  of  my  Redeemer 
alone.  Remember,  Alan,  that  great  peace  have  they 
who  love  the  Lord,  both  in  life  and  death.  They 
may  say  —  Mercy  and  goodness  have  followed  me 
all  the  days  of  my  life,  and  I  shall  dwell  in  the 
house  of  the  Lord  for  ever.'  " 
4 


38  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

Frank  Redding  and  Etberd  Morris,  neither  of 
whom  much  relished  the  tnrn  that  the  conversation 
had  taken,  for  it  seemed  a  sort  of  reflection  on  their 
own  inattention  to  divine  things,  here  began  to 
speak  about  other  members  of  the  club.  "There's 
bin  many  a  merry  bout  in  the  club-room  at  that 
inn,"  said  Frank ;  "  Bill  Watkins'  face  used  to 
shine  like  the  rising  sun  every  club  feast,  and  Sam 
Buckston's  eyes  sparkled  like  fire." 

"  Ay,"  said  Etherd,  "  and  Tom  Morton's  tongue 
rattled  away  like  a  bell-clapper." 

"  That's  the  worst  of  it,"  said  Alan,  shaking  his 
head;  it's  a  good  thing  for  working  men  to  club  to- 
gether to  support  each  other  in  sickness,  and  provide 
a  trifle  for  their  wives,  if  they  should  outlive  them; 
and  this  you  know  was  the  object  of  the  club.  But 
like-  a  great  many  other  good  things,  it  was  often 
used  for  other  purposes.  The  members  sometimes 
stayed  too  long  at  the  inn  ;  and  some  of  them  would 
drink  and  have  suppers:  and  these  feastings  and 
junketings  often  bring  about  a  deal  of  mischief. 
Tom  Morion  had  reason  to  be  sorry  that  his  tongue 
ran  so  f»st  as  it  did." 

Harry  asked  his  grandfather  to  tell  him  what 
had  happened  to  Tom  Morton,  when  he  went  on 
thus: — 

"Morton  was  a  decent  man,  and  never  inclined 
to  quarrel  with  any  one  except  in  his  cups;  but 
when  he  had  drunk  more  than  was  good  for  him,  he 
was  as  headstrong  as  an  unbroken  horse.  We  have 
all  of  us  temptations  enough  to  try  us,  without  put- 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  39 

ting  ourselves  in  the  way  of  them  by  drunkenness. 
There  is  a  text  of  Scripture  that  says,  '  Be  sober,  be 
vigilant;  because  your  adversary  the  devil,  as  a 
roaring  lion,  walketh  about,  seeking  whom  he  may 
devour.'  It  was  at  a  club  feast  that  Morion  quarrel- 
led with  Andrew  Taylor.  If  Andrew  had  left  him 
to  himself,  all  would  have  been  well,  but  he  fool- 
ishly used  as  hard  words  as  Morton  did  ;  and  from 
words  they  came  to  blows ;  so  true  it  is,  '  A  soft 
answer  turneth  away  wrath,  but  grievous  words 
stir  up  anger.' " 

"  It  was  a  bad  piece  of  business  altogether,"  said 
Frank. 

"They  were  parted  at  the  time,"  continued  Alan  ; 
"but  Morton  had  thrown  down  a  crown-piece,  offer- 
ing to  fight  Andrew  for  that  sum  any  day.  Andrew 
pulled  out  five  shillings,  and  the  money  was  held 
by  Jem  Hockley.  Every  body  thought  that  it  would 
come  to  nothing  ;  that  when  the  parties  were  sober 
they  would  see  their  folly  and  shake  hands  ;  but 
that  was  not  the,  case.  If  there  had  been  no  money- 
staked,  mayhap  matters  might  have  been  made  up; 
but  Andrew  Taylor  being  a  big  strong  fellow,  made 
sure  of  winning,  and  would  not  give  up  the  chance 
of  getting  a  crown-piece.  Morton,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  too  high-minded  to  acknowledge  Andrew 
to  be  master.  I  went  to  Morton,  and  to  Taylor  too, 
and  reasoned  with  them  ;  but  I  might  as  well  have 
stayed  at  home:  I  got  nothing  but  ill  words  for  my 
pains.  However,  it  is  our  duty  to  act  the  part  of 
peace-makers  in  this  world.     The  fight  came  on 


•40  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

for  John  Hockley  did  all  he  could  to  forward  it. 
But  what  was  the  consequence :  in  tne  second 
.round  Taylor  struck  Morton  on  the  temple  such  a 
.tremendous  blow,  that  he  fell  backward,  his  head 
.striking  against  a  stone." 

"  Did  it  kill  him,  Grandfather  ?"  eagerly  asked 
Harry  Gilbert. 

"  He  never  spoke  again,"  continued  Alan  ;  "  and 
Andrew  Taylor  has  not,  since  then,  been  the  man 
he  was  before." 

"It  was  an  ugly  job,"  said  Frank;  "but  there 
was  very  little  quarrelling  in  the  village  for  a  long 
time  after." 

"  Well  might  such  an  awful  circumstance,"  said 
Alan,  "  be  borne  in  mind.  Harry,  forget  not  that 
drunkenness  is  a  sin  that  is  brought  about  by  little 
and  little,  and  the  death  of  poor  Morton  is  an  in- 
stance of  what  it  may  lead  to.  Drink  not  at  all  of 
any  thing  that  can  make  you  drunk.  'Abstain 
from  the  very  appearance  of  evil.' " 

A  sudden  interruption  here  took  place,  occasion- 
ed by  Butcher  Turton's  brindled  bull-dog,  and  Field- 
ing's brown  mastiff;  the  dogs  had  met  in  crossing 
the  green,  and  flew  at  each  other's  throats.  There 
was  but  little  noise  made  by  the  dogs,  but  their  con- 
tention was  furious.  Fielding's  mastiff  was  the 
bigger  of  the  two,  but  Turton's  bull-dog  had  the 
credit  of  being  the  best  fighter  in  the  parish.  The 
strong  grappling,  the  shaking,  the  tearing,  and  the 
snorting  noise  made  by  the  enraged  animals  was 
fearful.    Frank  Redding  and  Etherd  Morris  hast- 


LAST    BIRTH-DAY.  41 

ened  toward  them,  the  one  picking  up  a  stone,  and 
the  other  snatching  up  the  stool  from  which  Harry 
Gilbert  had  just  risen.  Alan  bustled  into  his  cot- 
tage for  a  strong  stick,  and  in  a  few  seconds  the 
whole  group  surrounded  the  dogs. 

The  human  mind,  in  whatever  manner  it  may  be 
occupied,  is  usually  drawn  away  by  any  little  cir- 
cumstance of  an  exciting  kind.  Alan  and  his  two 
friends  were  fond  of  talking  over  past  events,  and 
Harry  Gilbert  was  all  alive  to  the  account  given  of 
Tom  Morton  and  Andrew  Taylor ;  but  no  sooner 
did  the  squabble  take  place  between  the  two  dogs, 
than  every  thing  else  was  forgotten  in  their  haste  to 
get  to  the  spot. 

The  more  Alan  Gilbert  and  his  friends  tried  to 
separate  the  dogs,  the  more  savage  they  became. 
Rage,  fury,  and  almost  madness,  seemed  to  inspire 
them  as  they  tugged,  and  pulled,  and  rolled  over 
each  other  in  their  struggle  for  victory.  It  was  in 
vain  that  Etherd  Morris  threw  his  stone,  that  Frank 
Redding  struck  the  mastiff  on  th'e  head  with  the 
stool,  and  that  Alan  endeavored  to  wrench  the 
dogs  asunder  with  his  stick  ;  they  had  caught 
hold  of  each  other,  and  would  not  loose  their 
hold,  until  Frank  Redding  hit  the  foot  of  the 
mastiff,  while  Etherd  Morris  held  the  tail  of  the 
bull-dog. 

"  Never  was  a  savager  toad  than  that,"  said  old 
Etherd,  loosing  the  bull-dog.     "  If  he  was  in  the 
river,  with  his  legs  tied,  and  a  couple  of  brick  ends 
round  his  neck,  it  would  be  a  rare  good  job." 
4* 


42  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

"  I  reckon  Tnrton  wouldn't  have  that  done  to  him 
for  a  trifle,"  said  Frank,  still  holding  the  mastiff, 
which  he  had  seized  by  the  collar.  "He  would 
rather  part  with  his  wife  and  his  children,  it's  my 
opinion,  than  with  his  bull-dog." 

After  a  while,  Turton's  dog,  finding  that  he^could 
not  get  at  the  other,  sulkily  stalked  away.  When 
he  was  clear  off  the  ground,  the  mastiff  was  set  at 
liberty,  and  Alan,  with  his  friends,  and  his  grandson 
Harry,  once  more  seated  themselves  round  the  deal 
table. 

"What  a  pity  it  is,"  said  Alan,  "that  animals  so 
useful  to  man,  should  be  brought  up  for  the  purpose 
of  tearing  each  other  to  pieces.  An  angry  dog 
looks  bad  enough,  but  an  angry- man  looks  much 
worse.  Mind,  Harry,  that  you  seek  God's  grace  to 
keep  down  your  passions,  for  they  may  do  more 
mischief  in  an.  hour  than  you  can  make  amends  for 
in  a  year.  The  wounds  made  by  the  teeth  are  a 
great  deal  easier  healed  than  those  made  by  the 
tongue.  '  The  torgue  can  no  man  tame ;  it  is  an  un- 
aruly  evil,  full  of  deadly  poison.5  It  is  now  about  five- 
and-fifty  years  ago  since  the  two  Mastons,  who  were 
both  members  of  the  club,  fell  out :  they  were  both 
cousins,  but  that  did  not  keep  them  from  fighting. 
The  blows  they  gave  each  other  passed  away,  and 
were  but  little  thought  of;  but  the  words  they 
spoke  were  never  forgotten.  Joe  Maston  thrived  in 
the  world,  and  his  cousin  Bill  got  very  poor.  I  went 
to  Bill,  and  tried  to  persuade  him  to  apply  to  his 
cousin  to  do  something  for  him.    '  No,  no,'  said 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  43 

he,  che  called  me  a  beggarly  brat,  and  I'll  slarve 
afore  I'll  be  beholden  to  him.'  I  then  went  to  Joe. 
'Joe,'  says  I,  '  poor  Bill  is  but  badly  off;  it  will  be 
no  ill  deed  to  help  him  a  little.  I  know  that  you 
have  not  been  friends,  but  we  must  forget  and  for- 
give.' 'lean  forgive  fast  enough,'  said  Joe;  'but 
I  shall  never  forget  that  he  called  me  a  purse-proud 
upstart,  and  I'll  do  nothing  for  him,  if  he  dies  in  a 
jail.'  Bill  did  die  in  a  jail,  sure  enough ;  and 
though  Joe  drew  his  last  breath  on  a  good  feather- 
bed in  his  own  house,  I  hardly  think  that  he  died 
happier  than  his  cousin,  for  he  raved  about  him  like 
a  madman,  and  said  that  a  curse  was  on  him  for 
not  helping  him." 

"I  remember  'em  both,"  said  Etherd  ;  "few 
folks  cried  after  :em  when  they  went,  for  the  one 
was  about  as  good  for  nothing  as  the  other." 

"  They  ought  to  have  forgiven  one  another,"  said 
Alan,  "and  dwelt  in  peace.  It  little  becomes  such 
poor  sinful  worms  as  we  are  to  bear  malice,  and  to 
practise  unforgiveness.  What  would  become  of  u« 
all,  old  and  young,  if  God  did  not  bear  with  us, 
more  than  we  bear  with  one  another  !  Besides,  our 
blessed  Saviour  has  taught  us  to  pray,  '  Forgive  us 
our  trespasses  as  we  forgive  those  who  trespass 
against  us.' " 

It  was  a  clear  case,  that  though  Alan  talked  with 
old  Etherd  and  Frank,  his  chief  object  was  to  im- 
press the  mind  of  his  grandson,  for  every  now  and 
then  he  gave  a  glance  to  see  if  Harry  was  paying 
attention  to  his  remarks. 


44  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

"What  is  the  club  for,  Grandfather?"  said  Harry. 
"I  know  that  the  men  walk  with  long  sticks  in 
their  hands,  and  go  to  church  with  the  music  play- 
ing before,  and  dine  at  the  public-house  j  but  I 
never  could  make  out  what  it  was  for." 

"  I  thought  I  had  already  explained  that,  but  I 
will  tell  you  again,"  said  Alan.  "  You  know,  Har- 
ry, that  all  men,  however  hearty  they  may  be,  are 
liable  to  sickness,  to  accidents,  and  death.  Now  the 
different  members  of  the  club  pay  a  trifle  every 
week  to  the  club-box ;  and  whenever  any  of  them 
are  ill,  they  have  a  comfortable  allowance  made  to 
them  to  support  them,  besides  finding  them  a  doc- 
tor, and  what  physic  they  may  want.  Then  when 
a  member  dies,  he  is  buried  at  the  expense  of  the 
club,  and  a  sum  of  money  is  given  to  his  wife,  if 
he  leaves  one  behind  him.  It  is  an  excellent  thing 
to  lay  by  for  a  rainy  day  ;  and  as  no  man  knows 
how  soon  he  may  be  sick,  it  is  acting  wisely  to 
prepare  for  it  while  he  is  well.  The  worst  part  of 
the  club  is  the  junketing  part,  and  that  generally 
does  mischief." 

"Ay,  Master  Gilbert,"  said  Frank,  "you  mustn't 
be  too  hard  on  the  club ;  a  cup  o'  drink  opens  a 
man's  heart,  and  if  he  has  any  thing  good  in  him,  it 
fetches  it  out." 

"  It  often  fetches  out  a  great  deal  of  evil,"  replied 
Alan  ;  "  few  men  know  when  they  have  had  enough. 
Drink  gives  strength  to  a  man's  passions,  but  it 
sadly  weakens  his  judgment;  and  just  when  he 
ought  to  give  over  drinking,  he  is  persuaded  by 


LAST    BIRTH-DAY.  45 

what  he  has  already  taken  to  drink  more.  Let  a 
man  be  ever  so  wise  in  drinking  his  first  jug,  he  is 
pretty  sure  to  become  a  fool  after  he  has  drunk 
three  or  four.  The  better  way  is  not  to  drink  any 
strong  drink  at  all." 

Alan  here  observed  that  the  table  was  wet,  and 
being  very  neat  and  particular  in  his  habits,  and  le- 
membering  that  "cleanliness  is  next  to  godliness," 
he  rose  up  to  fetch  a  towel  from  the  cottage. 


CHAPTER    V. 


THE  SCHOOL. 

Billots,  the  Church-warden  —  The  Sunday  School — Bill  Waters 
and  Sam  Rickets — Reform  in  the  Village — John  Lomley — Edward 
Blake — Kitty  Short — Aaron  Birch,  the  Sailor — Sarah  Birch,  and 
Daughter  Mary  —  Hannah  Horbury  —  The  Birth-day  Present  — 
Horbury,  the  Blacksmith. 

No  sooner  had  Alan  walked  into  his  cottage,  than 
Etherd  Morris  and  Frank  Redding  got  up  from  their 
seats,  and  strolled  a  little  way  across  the  green,  leav- 
ing Harry  Gilbert  busily  employed  in  drawing  a 
house  on  the  deal  table.  By  the  time  he  had  finish- 
ed his  performance,  Frank  Redding  had  stolen 
quietly  behind  him,  putting  both  his  hands  over 
his  eyes,  a  trick  which  he  had  frequently  played 
him. 

"  I  know  who  it  is,"  cried  out  Harry  Gilbert,  try- 


46  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

ing  to  remove  the  hands  of  Frank  ;  "  I  know  who 
it  is,  for  I  can  feel  the  warts  on  your  thumb." 

"  That  will  be  a  'cute  lad,  some  day,"  said  Frank 
to  Etherd  Morris,  who  had  seated  himself  once 
more  at  the  table. 

"  He'll  have  nobody  to  blame  but  himself,  if  he 
turns  out  a  simpleton,"  replied  Etherd,  "  seeing 
what  a  head-piece  his  grandfather  has  got." 

Here  Alan  returned  with  a  cloth  in  his  hand,  to 
wipe  the  table. 

"  That's  some  o'  young  Harry's  handy- works," 
said  Frank,  pointing  to  the  figure  of  the  house,  "  and 
a  rare  lot  o'  doors  and  chimneys  he  has  put  to  it.  I 
reckon  it's  the  house  he  means  to  live  in  when  he's 
made  a  church-warden." 

"  Then  I  hope  he'll  make  a  better  man  than  Bil- 
lets, the  church-warden,  is,"  said  Etherd  Morris. 
"His  tongue  is  glib  enough  when  he  has  any  thing 
to  promise,  but  his  hands  are  mighty  slow  to  per- 
form :  he's  a  proud,  passionate  fellow,  and  make 
the  best  on  him." 

"A  passionate  man,"  said  Alan,  "rides  ahorse 
that  runs  away  with  him  :  and  Mr.  Billets  has  been 
led  into  a  great  deal  of  trouble  by  his  angry  fits; 
but  there  are  worse  men  in  the  world  than  him, 
after  all." 

"And  a  great  many  better,"  rejoined  Etherd:  "he 
promised  me  a  good  turn ;  but  when  the  time  came 
that  I  wanted  it,  he  couldn't,  for  the  life  on  him, 
remember  any  thing  about  it.  '  A  friend  is  never 
known  till  he's  needed.'     There  is  an  old  saying 


LAST   BIRTH-PAY.  47 

that  {  a  good  servant  makes  a  good  master.'  I  re- 
member Mr.  Billets  when  he  was  a  servant,  and  a 
bad  one  too,  and  I  take  it  that  he'll  be  a  bad  master 
all  his  days." 

"  Whatever  he  may  be  in  the  opinion  of  his 
neighbors,"  said  Frank  Redding,  "  it's  a  clear  case 
that  he's  a  great  man  in  his  own." 

"  Goodness  without  greatness,  is  more.to  be  de- 
sired than  greatness  without  goodness,"  said  Alan 
Gilbert.  ''  Mis  father  before  him  set  him  a  good 
example.  He  was  the  man  that  first  set  about  build- 
ing the  Sunday  school,  and  his  money  was  well  laid 
out;  for  {  he  that  giveth  to  the  poor,  lendeth  to  the 
Lord.'" 

"  Do  you  think  that  the  school  has  ever  done 
much  good,  Master  Gilbert?"  asked  Frank  Red- 
ding. 

"  Do  I  think  so  !"  replied  Alan  ;  "  God  forbid 
that  I  should  ever  have  occasion  to  think  otherwise. 
I  look  upon  Sunday  schools  to  be  among  the  very 
best  undertakings  of  the  land,  and  if  ever  God's 
blessing  rested  upon  any  thing,  it  has  rested  upon 
them." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  old  Etherd,  who  had  gene- 
rally sompthinff  to  say  against  every  body  and  every 
thing;  "  for  my  part,"  said  he,  u  T  look  upon  some 
of  the  young  chaps  who  go  there,  to  be  the  most 
unrulv  in  the  whole  village.  Look  at  Bill  Waters 
and  Sam  R'eke's,  a  brace  of  bad  boys  they  are,  and 
I'm  afraid  likely  to  be." 

"They  may  be  bad  lads,"  replied  Alan,  "and 


48  ALAN    GILEEKt'S 

sure  enough  they  are  among  the  very  worst  that 
ever  I  had  any  thing  to  do  with,  but  it  was  not  the 
Sunday  school  that  made  them  so.  You  know  what 
a  wretched  example  is  set  them  by  their  parents, 
and  it's  a  hard  thing  to  undo  on  the  Lord's  day 
what  has  been  done  wrong  all  the  rest  of  the  days 
of  the  week.  But  look  at  the  sober  servant-men, 
and  the  neat  conscientious  servant-girls  that  there 
are  about  the  neighborhood,  who  were  brought  up 
at  the  Sunday  school.  I  could  talk  for  an  hour 
about  them,  and  still  have  something  to  say." 

Alan  Gilbert,  in  his  time,  had  done  a  great  deal 
for  the  school ;  it  was,  indeed,  a  favorite  establish- 
ment with  him,  for  he  believed  in  his  heart,  that 
with  God's  blessing,  it  had  done  more  good  in  the 
village  than  could  have  been  done  in  any  other 
way.  He  always  spoke  of  it  with  animation,  but 
Frank  Redding's  making  it  a  matter  of  doubt  whe- 
ther the  school  had  been  useful  or  not,  moved  him, 
on  this  occasion,  to  say  more  about  it  than  he 
otherwise  would  have  done.  Harry  Gilbert,  who 
had  been  in  the  Sunday  school  a  long  time,  listened 
with  great  attention  to  the  remarks  of  his  grand- 
father, while  he  went  on  thus:— 

"  Before  the  Sunday  school  was  built,  the  green 
here,  and  the  church-yard,  used  to  be  thronged  on 
the  Lord's  day  with  thoughtless  young  people,  who 
followed  out  their  week-day  games,  as  though  God 
had  never  given  the  commandment,  'Remember 
the  sabbath-day  to  keep  it  holy.'  It  is  not  so  now: 
you  don't  see  boys  and  girls  romping  on  the  green. 


LAST   BtRTH-DAV.  49 

young  women  running,  tittering,  and  laughing  in 
the  church-yard,  nor  young  men  playing  at  ball  in 
the  afternoon  against  the  church  door.  There  is  a 
great  change,  in  these  respects,  for  the  better;  and 
though  there  is  enough,  and  too  much  that  is  bad 
among  us,  there  would  be  a  great  deal  more  if  it 
were  not  for  the  Sunday  school." 

"Well,  Master  Gilbert,"  said  Frank,  "  you  know 
a  deal  more  about  these  things  than  I  do;  but  our 
fathers  afore  us  went  on  pretty  well  without  Sunday 
schools,  and  if  they  were  not  quite  so  wise,  mayhap 
they  were  as  honest  as  we  be." 

"There  was  a  time,"  said  Alan,  in  his  reply  to 
Frank,  "  when  our  forefathers  lived  like  savages, 
dressed  up  in  the  skins  of  beasts,  dwelling  in  holes  of 
the  earth,  and  not  knowing  how  to  plough,  to  sow, 
or  to  reap;  but  you  won't  say  that  their  children 
did  wrong  when  they  found  out  how  to  plough  and 
to  reap,  and  to  make  better  clothing,  and  to  build 
better  houses.  It  is  much  'more  befitting  that  such 
unworthy  creatures  as  we  are,  should  seek  to  amend 
our  own  errors,  than  point  out  those  of  our  fore- 
fathers ;  but  you  well  know,  that  in  times  back,  few 
could  read  the  Bible;  now  as  the  Bible  contains  the 
will  of  God,  the  more  we  know  of  it  the  better. 
Sunday  schools  have  taught  thousands  on  thousands 
to  read  the  Bible.  Then,  again,  wakes  and  fairs, 
more  is  the  pity,  used  to  be  held  by  our  forefathers 
not  only  on  the  Lord's  day,  but  in  the  very  church- 
yard. Now  Sunday  schools  have  done  much  to 
cure  this  evil,  by  occupying  young  people  in  a  dif- 
5 


50  alan  Gilbert's 

ferent  and  a  better  manner,  so  that  tens  of  thousands^ 
that  might  otherwise  have  been  young  sabbath- 
breakers,  are  worshippers  of  God  the  Father,  and 
his  Son  Jesus  Christ,  on  the  Lord's  day." 

"  I  can't  say  any  thing  against  that,  for  certain, " 
said  Frank  ;  "  but  some  of  the  young  chaps  are,  as 
I  said  before,  no  better  than  they  should  be." 

"  [f  young  people  who  go  to  the  Sunday  school 
are  bad,"  said  Alan,  "it  is  more  than  likely  that  if 
they  did  not  go  there,  they  would  be  a  deal  worse." 

Here  Etherd  Morris  told  Frank  that  he  had  better 
not  argufy  the  matter  with  Master  Gilbert,  for  that 
he  would  find  him  too  many  for  him.  u  The  proof 
of  the  pudding  was,"  he  said,  "in  the  eating,  and 
mayhap  Master  Gilbert  would  tell  them  a  little  more 
of  the  good  that  the  Sunday  school  had  done." 

"  I  wish  I  could  tell  yon  one-half  of  it,"  replied 
Alan.  "John  Lomley,  young  as  he  was,  whtn 
first  he  went  to  the  school,  swore  like  a  trooper,  for 
he  had  learned  to  do  so  from  his  uncle;  but  John 
Lomley  is  no  swearer  now:  Edward  Blake  was  a 
sad  liar;  but  I  trust  he  would  tremble  to  tell  a  lie 
now  :  Kitty  Short  used  to  pilfer  whenever  she  had 
the  opportunity  ;  but  she  now  keeps  the  command- 
ment, 'Thou  shalt  not  steal :'  and  if  you  knew  more 
about  the  school  than  you  do,  you  would  never 
doubt  for  a  moment  whether  it  did  good  or  not. 
Harry,  who  sits  there,  though  he  is  but  nine  years 
old,  can  read  a  chapter  in  the  Word  of  God  better 
than  many  who  are  fourscore,  and  that  is  a  mercy 
that  I  hope  he  will  be  thunkfuj  for  all  the  days  of 


LAST    BIRTH-DAY.  51 

his  life.  The  Bible  says,  '  I  love  them  that  love  me, 
and  those  that  seek  me  early  shall  find  me ;'  and  I 
trust  that  Harry  will  be  among  those  who  remember 
the  Creator  in  the  days  of  their  youth.  I  dare  say, 
Frank,  that  you  knew  Aaron  Birch,  who  died  last 
year  up  at  Little  Stoke?" 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  did,"  replied  Frank  ;  "  but  I 
have  heard  of  him.     He  lost  an  arm  at  sea." 

"He  did,"  said  Alan;  "but  I  have  something 
else  to  tell  of  him  besides  that.  When  he  lived  in 
the  next  parish,  twenty  years  ago,  he  was  a  sad 
reprobate,  and  neither  deserved  nor  had  the  good 
word  of  any  one.  Every  body  considered  Aaron 
Birch  to  be  a  vagabond,  and  the  biggest  blackguard 
in  the  parish.  After  many  mad  pranks  he  ran  away, 
leaving  his  wife,  with  an  infant  in  her  arms,  to  take 
care  of  herself  how  she  could.  Ten  long  years 
rolled  away,  in  which  time  Aaron  had  been  knocked 
about  both  by  sea  and  land.  The  loss  of  his  arm, 
occasioned  by  an  accident  on  board  ship,  and  sick- 
ness, brought  down  his  proud  spirit,  and  having  no 
better  prospect  before  him,  he  hobbled  homeward, 
thinking  to  get  into  the  work-house.  A  wound  in 
his  foot,  which  had  been  sadly  neglected,  was  a  sore 
trouble  to  him,  so  that  with  the  help  of  a  crutch  he 
could  hardly  get  along.  In  passing  through  Little 
Stoke,  he  begged  a  draught  of  water  at  a  cottage, 
when  the  girl  who  gave  it  him,  told  him  he  had 
better  come  in  and  sit  down.  Aaron  was  glad 
enough  to  sit  down,  so  he  took  a  chair  close  by  the 
door,  and  the  little  girl  brought  him  a  crust  of  bread 


52  ALAN   GILBERT'S 

and  cheese. 

thought  it  the  neatest  place  he  had  ever  seen  in  all 
his  life.  The  deal  table  was  as  white  as  a  curd,  the 
tea-tray,  and  the  few  little  pictures  in  black  frames, 
set  off  the  white-washed  walls,  and  the  holy  Bible, 
that  lay  by  itself  on  the  table,  made  Aaron  feel  as  if  he 
was  too  bad  a  man  to  enter  such  a  dwelling.  When 
Aaron  had  done  eating,  and  was  about  to  take  up 
his  crutch,  the  little  girl,  seeing  that  he  wore  a 
sailor's  jacket,  after  inquiring  if  he  could  read,  gave 
him  a  tract  about  a  sailor.  Aaron  thanked  her,  and 
hobbled  away,  blessing  her  in  his  heart.  Before  he 
had  got  a  hundred  yards  from  the  house,  he  lifted 
the  tract  up  to  his  eyes  to  read  it,  and  after  looking 
at  the  picture,  he  noticed  a  name  written  under  it 
which  made  him  stop  short.  The  name  was  Mary 
Birch.  Now  there  might,  for  all  he  knew,  be  many 
Mary  Birches  in  the  neighborhood;  but  knowing 
that  his  own  little  girl  was  christened  Mary  before 
he  left  her,  and  knowing  too  that  she  must,  if  alive, 
be  about  the  same  age  as  the  little  girl  who  had 
given  him  the  tract,  a  strange  feeling  came  across 
him,  and  if  he  hoped  a  little,  he  feared  a  great  deal." 

"And  was  it  his  daughter?"  inquired  Harry 
Gilbert. 

"  It  was  enough  to  set  his  heart  a  beating,  whether 
or  not,"  said  Frank  Redding;  "I  warrant  you  he 
soon  stumped  back  again  to  the  cottage." 

"Not  exactly  so,"  continued  Alan,  "for  he  called 
at  another  cottage,  some  distance  off,  to  make  in 
quiry.     The  woman  who  lived  there  had  not  been 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  53 

long  in  the  village,  and  knew  but  little  about  Mary- 
Birch.  All  that  she  knew  was,  that  she  was  a  tidy 
girl,  and  that  her  mother,  Sarah  Birch,  who  came 
out  of  the  next  parish,  had  the  principal  manage- 
ment of  the  girls  in  the  Sunday  school.  Aaron 
began  to  think  it  not  only  possible,  but  likely  that 
Mary  might  be  his  child,  and  he  felt  humbled  to  the 
very  dust  as  he  went  back  to  her.  When  Aaron 
was  once  on  board  ship,  near  Algiers,  the  vessel  he 
was  in  was  boarded  by  a  pirate.  Twenty  men,  with 
their  drawn  cutlasses,  rushed  on  the  deck,  and  were 
beaten  back  again.  '  I  was  as  bold  as  a  lion,'  said 
Aaron,  c  when  I  faced  the  pirates  ;  but  when  I  had 
to  face  my  own  wife  and  child,  I  trembled  like  an 
aspen  leaf.'  " 

"But  was  Mary  his  daughter?"  again  inquired 
Harry  Gilbert. 

"  She  was,"  replied  Alan.  "  After  being  some 
time  at  the  Sunday  school,  a  Bible  was  given  to  her 
for  her  good  behavior;  and  it  was  the  reading  of 
this  Bible,  and  other  books  and  tracts  which  were 
lent  to  her  and  her  mother,  that  proved  a  blessing 
to  them  both.  God  was  pleased  to  teach  them  by 
his  Holy  Spirit,  and  all  that  they  did  prospered. 
( Godliness  is  profitable  unto  all  things,  having 
promise  of  the  life  that  now  is,  and  of  that  which  is 
to  come.'  A  decent  woman  was  wanted  to  attend 
to  the  Stoke  Sunday  school.  Mrs.  Birch  was  en- 
gaged, and  made  herself  so  useful,  that  many  of  the 
better  sort  of  people  took  notice  of  her,  and  en- 
couraged her  in  her  business  as  a  mantua-maker. 
5* 


54  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

In  course  of  time  she  took  that  cottage,  where  her 
husband  called  on  the  way  to  his  parish  work-house, 
and  her  daughter  was  the  greatest  earthly  comfort 
of  her  life." 

"Aaron  Birch  was  not  a  little  glad  to  get  into 
such  snug  quarters,  I'll  be  bound  for  it,"  said  Frank 
Redding;  "though  his  wife  would  look  a  little  side- 
ways at  him  at  first." 

"  His  wife  received  him  kindly,"  said  Alan  ;  "and 
though  he  did  not  live  many  years,  yet  those  years 
were  the  happiest  of  his  life:  he  became  a  changed 
man.  Some  few  days  before  he  died  he  gave  me  this 
account,  and  said  that  to  his  last  gasp  he  should 
have  reason  to  bless  God  that  his  daughter  Mary  was 
sent  to  the  Sunday  school." 

This  account  stopped  the  mouth  of  Frank  Redding 
and  Etherd  Morris,  so  far  as  regarded  their  doubts 
of  Sunday  schools  being  useful ;  but  Etherd  could 
not  help  saying  that  Aaron  Birch  did  not  deserve 
such  "  good  luck  ;"  and  Frank  could  not  help  laugh- 
ing at  the  figure  Aaron  must  have  cut  with  one  arm, 
and  a  lame  leg,  half  frightened  out  of  his  wits  at  his 
own  wife  and  child. 

While  Frank  Redding  was  indulging  his  mirth, 
liule  Hannah  Horbury,  the  blacksmith's  daughter, 
came  across  the  green  in  the  direction  of  Alan  Gil- 
bert's cottage,  with  a  small  parcel  in  her  hand. 
Horbury  was  a  strong-built,  hot-headed  man,  who 
dearly  loved  to  argue  about  the  Bible;  he  thought 
that  he  knew  a  great  deal  about  the  book,  but,  in 
reality,  he  was  very  ignorant  of  it ;  added  to  this,  he 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  55 

had  a  strong  prejudice  against  Sunday  schools. 
When  Hannah  came  close  up  to  Alan,  she  dropped 
a  courtesy,  and  putting  the  parcel  into  his  hands, 
said  he  must  please  to  accept  of  it  because  it  was 
his  birth-day. 

Alan  opened  the  parcel,  and  found  that  it  con- 
tained a  pair  of  good  leathern  gloves,  two  capital 
nightcaps,  and  a  pair  of  worsted  garters. 

"  And  how  came  you  to  know,  Hannah,"  said 
Alan,  "  that  it  was  my  birth-day  ?" 

"Mother  told  us  so  two  or  three  weeks  since, 
when  she  made  the  caps  and  bought  the  worsted 
for  the  garters,  saying  that  I  must  get  them  done 
by  to-day  for  certain." 

"  And  so  you  knit  the  garters,  my  little  maiden," 
said  Alan,  looking  kindly  at  her,  "and  your  mother 
made  the  caps ;  but  where  did  you  get  the  gloves 
from  ?" 

"  Father  said,"  replied  the  little  girl,  "  that  if 
mother  and  I  made  you  a  present,  he  would  make 
one  too,  for  that  he  respected  you  as  much  as  we 
did." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Alan,  "  this  is  all  very  strange, 
and  I  must  call  round  upon  you  and  give  you  a 
good  scolding  all  together;"  but  while  he  said  this 
little  Hannah  was  quick  enough  to  see  how  pleased 
he  was  with  his  present. 

"  Here,"  said  Alan,  giving  her  a  slice  of  cake, 
"you  must  eat  that  on  your  road  home,  and  be 
sure  tell  your  mother  how  angry  you  have  made 
me." 


56  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

Hannah  walked  away  with  a  light  heart,  every 
now  and  then  looking  back  and  smiling. 

"I  thought  that  you  and  Richard  Horbury  were 
two  folks,"  said  Frank;  "for  last  week  \e  seemed 
a  bit  twisted  in  his  temper  when  he  spoke  about 
you." 

"  I  will  tell  you  how  it  was,"  replied  Alan,  f  For 
some  time  back  I  have  paid  a  little  attention  to  Han- 
nah ;  and  about  a  fortnight  ago  I  asked  her  mother 
to  let  her  go  to  the  Sunday  school,  and  she  was  very 
favorable  to  it,  and  sent  her ;  but  when  Richard 
Horbury  heard  of  it,  he  fell  into  one  of  his  passions. 
You  know  what  a  hot  temper  he  has  :  he  threatened 
that  if  Hannah  ever  entered  the  school  again,  he 
would  beat  her  black  and  blue.  Hearing  of  this,  I 
went  to  him.  '  Richard,'  said  I,  '  you  are  a  reader 
of  the  Bible,  and  with  your  leave,  as  the  book  is  here 
on  th^  table,  I  will  turn  down  a  passage  for  your 
consideration.  Instructing  a  child  in  the  Sunday 
school  to  read  the  Word  of  God,  is  teaching  a  child 
to  go  to  God,  and  I  think  that  you  may  do  wrong  in 
preventing  it.' 

"  Horbury  said  that  it  might  be  very  well  for  him 
and  for  me  to  attend  to  such  things,  but  that  a  child 
like  his  daughter  had  nothing  to  do  with  them. 

"'Well,'  said  I,  'we  won't  waste  our  time  in 
arguing  about  it;  but  listen  a  moment  to  what  the 
Saviour  says,  in  the  10th  chapter  of  St.  Mark's 
gospel :'  so  I  read  the  words,  '  Suffer  the  little 
children  to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not,  for 
of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  G^n.    Verily,  I  say  unto 


LAST    BIRTH-DAY.  61 

you,  Whoever  shall  not  receive  the  kingdom  of  God 
as  a  little  child  he  shall  not  enter  therein.'  " 

"  You  nailed  him  there,"  said  Frank  ;  "  but  I  take 
it  Horbury  knows  a  deal  more  about  making  a  horse- 
shoe than  he  does  about  the  Bible,  though  he  rattles 
away  so  much  about  it." 

"  However  that  may  be,"  replied  Alan,  "  he  let  his 
daughter  come  to  the  school  on  Sunday,  and  his 
sending  me  the  gloves  looks  as  though  he  is  at  peace 
with  me.  Young  people  are  quick  enough  to  learn 
evil,  and  cannot  therefore  be  taught  too  much  good 
in  their  early  days.  '  Train  up  a  child,  in  the  way 
he  should  go,  and  when  he  is  old  he  will  not  depart 
from  it.' " 

Alan  having  occasion  to  go  into  the  cottage  to 
attend  to  some  domestic  matters,  now  left  his  friends 
for  a  few  moments. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


THE  WORK-HOUSE. 

Mischievous  Prank  — Sulky  Sam — The  Work-house — Stuckley, 
the  Master — God's  Merciful  Command  to  his  People — Jack  Hard- 
ing— Description  of  Job  Kimley  and  Bill  Dike  —  Bill  Tarred  and 
Feathered — Bustling  Bob — Alex  Hyatt — Alan's  Reverence  for  the 
Bible. 

During  the  time  that  Alan  Gilbert  was  absent, 
Frank  Redding,  who  seldom  lost  an  opportunity  of 
indulging  in  a  prank,  caught  hold  of  one  of  the  legs 


58  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

of  the  stool  on  which  Harry  Gilbert  was  sitting,  and 
giving  it  a  sudden  pull,  left  Harry  sprawling  on  the 
grass.  A  scuffle  then  took  place  for  possession  of 
the  stool;  for,  while  Frank  held  it  up  in  the  air, 
Harry  strove  with  all  his  mi^ht  to  get  at  it.  In  this 
contention,  Frank,  in  shifting  the  stool  from  one 
hand  to  the  other,  struck  it  against  the  shin  of  old 
Etherd,  who  indulged  in  a  more  than  ordinary  de- 
gree of  ill-temper  on  the  occasion,  telling  Frank, 
while  he  rubbed  his  smarting  shin,  that  he  was 
more  like  a  young  playful  kitten,  than  a  staid  old 
man.  "  Why,"  said  Frank,  laughing  loudly, "  when 
I  was  young,  I  used  to  like  a  roll  on  the  green 
grass,  and  I  thought  it  would  do  Harry  good.  He 
would  'a  gone  to  sleep  if  I  had  let  him  alone;  but 
now  he  is  wide  awake,  and  fierce  as  a  fighting 
cock." 

While  Frank  chuckled  at  the  success  of  his  joke, 
Harry  Gilbert  threatened  to  be  even  with  him,  and 
Etherd  Morris  went  on  waspishly  complaining  of 
his  wounded  shin,  till  Alan  Gilbert  joined  them 
from  the  cottage. 

As  Alan  sat  down,  Sulky  Sam,  as  the  villagers 
called  him,  passed  across  the  green,  in  his  pauper's 
dress,  consisting  of  a  loose  coat  or  gown  of  very 
coarse  cloth,  with  a  strap  buckled  round  his  waist. 
Sam  held  up  his  lame  arm  with  his  right  hand,  and 
slowly  dragged  his  slipshod  feet  along,  one  after  the 
other.  " Sam  Paton,  yonder,"  said  Alan,  "ought  to 
be  a  warning  to  all  young  people  to  avoid  idleness 
and  drunkenness;   for  idleness  and   drunkenness 


LAST   BIRTH- DAV,  59 

have  brought  more  to  the  parish  work-house  than 
all  the  misfortune?  that  have  ever  happened  in  the 
world." 

The  work-house  was  a  large,  gloomy,  forbidding 
sort  of  a  building,  and  stood  quite  at  the  end  of  the 
parish.  It  had  in  it  the  poor  belonging  to  three  pa- 
rishes, who  were  farmed  by  a  man  of  the  name  of 
Stuckley ;  that  is,  Stuckley  undertook  to  provide  for 
them  at  so  much  a  head,  so  that  the  less  money 
they  cost  him,  the  more  he  put  in  his  pocket. 
Stuckley  was  a  flinty-hearted,  money-getting  man, 
and  the  paupers,  with  reason,  complained  of  the 
hard  usage  they  met  with  at  his  hands. 

"Sam  Paton,"  continued  Alan,  "had  as  fair  a 
prospect  before  him  as  most  young  fellows  have; 
his  father  was  a  sawyer,  and  an  industrious,  upright 
man.  Sometimes  he  worked  at  the  bottom  of  the 
saw-pit,  and  sometimes  at  the  top,  but  he  could  get 
his  son  to  work  at  neither,  and  the  reason  of  it  was, 
that  an  uncle  had  left  him  fifty  pounds,  to  be  paid 
to  him  when  he  became  twenty  years  of  age.  This 
fifty  pounds  was  the  complete  ruin  of  Sam  Paton. 
He  fancied  himself  above  every  one  of  his  acquaint- 
ance, became  undutiful  to  his  parents,  and  saucy  to 
all  with  whom  he  had  any  thing  to  do.  His  father 
got  on  by  his  industry,  turned  wheelwright,  and 
would  have  taken  Sam  into  partnership  with  him, 
but  that  was  quite  out  of  the  question,  on  account 
of  his  bad  conduct.  He  became  so  notoriously  idle, 
that  it  was  a  saying  in  the  village>  (  You  are  as  idle 
as  Sam  Paton. *  " 


60  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

"  Ay,  I  have  heard  that  saying  fifty  times,"  said 
Frank  Redding ;  "  Sam  loved  dearly  to  lounge  about 
by  the  brook-side,  to  swing  backward  and  forward 
on  a  gate,  and  to  lie  all  along  in  the  sun  on  a  piece 
o'  timber." 

"  Yes,  but  there  was  som'at  that  he  liked  a  good 
deal  better,"  said  Etherd,  "  and  that  was,  to  sit  on 
the  bench  at  the  door  of  the  inn,  with  a  jug  o'  ale 
afore  him." 

"  That  was  when  he  received  his  money,"  con- 
tinued Alan;  "for  then  drunkenness  was  added  to 
idleness.  He  drank  himself,  and  treated  any  fool 
that  would  bear  him  company,  till  his  money  went 
like  butter  in  the  sun.  The  scrapes  he  got  into  kept 
his  father  poor,  so  that  when  William  Paton  died, 
his  son  Sara  soon  became  a  beggar.  c  Seest  thou  a 
man  diligent  in  his  business,  he  shall  stand  before 
kings,'  says  Solomon;  but  Sam  was  not  diligent, 
and  he  came  to  poverty." 

"Many  a  time  have  I  seen  Will  Paton  working 
away  on  the  top  of  the  saw-pit  at  four  in  a  morn- 
ing," said  Frank;  "and  many  a  time,  too,  have  I  call- 
ed and  found  his  son  a-bed,  four  or  five  hours  a'ter." 

"  No  wonder,"  said  Alan,  "  that  he  came  to  the 
work-house.  Harry,  let  no  man  call  you  idle,  for 
idleness  is  the  parent  of  poverty.  Be  up  betimes, 
and  earn  your  breakfast  before  you  eat  it.  '  Love 
not  sleep,  lest  thou  come  to  poverty;  open  thine 
eyes,  and  thou  shalt  be  satisfied  with  bread.'  Sam, 
in  a  drunken  fit,  lamed  his  left  arm,  and  since  then 
other  accidents  have  befallen  him." 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  61 

"  He's  as  sulky  as  a  bear  with  a  sore  head,"  said 
Frank;  "but  I'll  be  bound  that  Stuckley  doesn't  do 
much  to  put  him  in  a  good  temper." 

"  The  history  of  that  work-house,"  continued 
Alan,  "  if  it  could  be  told,  would  show  young  people 
pretty  plainly,  how  few  upright,  industrious,  god- 
fearing people  come  to  be  supported  by  the  parish. 
There  are  cases,  and  I  have  known  such  —  God 
forbid  that  I  should  speak  evil  of  the  lowliest  being 
that  ever  entered  the  work-house  walls  —  there  are 
many  instances  of  honest,  hard-working,  Christian 
men  being  brought  low  by  unavoidable  misfor- 
tunes ;  but  where  one  man  of  this  description  enters 
the  poor-house,  half  a  dozen  of  a  very  different  sort 
go  there." 

"  If  I  should  ever  be  so  unlucky  as  to  get  into  a 
work-house,"  said  Frank,  "  I  hopes  it  won't  be  that 
where  Stuckley  is  master." 

"  As  far  as  you  ever  have  the  power,  Frank,  re- 
member the  poor,"  said  Alan  Gilbert;  "he  that 
helps  a  poor  man  to  keep  out  of  the  work-house, 
does  a  better  deed  than  he  who  gives  to  two  poor 
men  inside  the  walls.  How  merciful  was  the  com- 
mand of  God  to  his  chosen  people  !  '  If  there  be 
among  you  a  poor  man,  of  one  of  thy  brethren,  with- 
in any  of  thy  gates,  in  the  land  which  the  Lord  thy 
God  giveth  thee,  thou  shalt  not  harden  thine  heart, 
nor  shut  thine  hand  from  thy  poor  brother :  but 
thou  shalt  open  thine  hand  wide  unto  him,  and  shalt 
surely  lend  him  sufficient  for  his  need.  Thou  shalt 
surely  give  him,  and  thine  heart  shall  not  be  griev- 
6 


62  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

ed  when  thou  givest  unto  him.     For  the  poor  shall 
never  cease  out  of  the  land.'  " 

"  Why,  Master  Gilbert,"  exclaimed  Frank,  "  what 
a  memory  you  'a  got !  it  would  take  me  a  week  to 
learn  a  text  o'  the  Bible  as  long  as  that  is.  I  dare 
say  you  hav'nt  forgot  Jack  Harding?" 

"  I  hav'nt  forgot  him,"  said  Etherd  ;  "  for  if  evei 
there  was  a  bad  fellow  in  the  world,  it  was  him." 

"  He  was  a  sad  reprobate,  sure  enough,"  added 
Alan  ;  <;  neither  the  master  of  the  work-house,  the 
overseer,  nor  the  constable,  could  master  him ;  but 
death  mastered  him  for  all  that,  for  '  what  man  is 
he  that  liveth,  and  shall  not  see  death  V  " 

"  How  did  he  die,  Grandfather?"  asked  Harry. 

"  He  broke  out  of  the  work-house  one  rainy  day, 
and,  when  wet  to  the  skin,  lay  down  for  the  night 
before  the  fire  of  the  lime-kilns  at  Cooper's  Hill,  hut 
he  never  got  over  it;  his  strength  became  weakness, 
and  his  high  spirit  forsook  him,  so  thai  he,  whom  a 
strong  man  could  not  master,  might  have  been 
overcome  by  a  child." 

"  How  long  has  Mad  Nichols  been  in  the  work- 
house?" inquired  Harry. 

"  At  least  these  dozen  years,"  replied  Alan.  "  I 
£ouli  tell  of  twenty  like  him,  who  have  been  more 
or  less  affected  in  their  minds,  for  the  work-house 
always  has  one  or  two  such  unhappy  beings  within 
it.  How  few  of  us  have  ever  heartily  thanked  God 
for  our  understanding,  and  determined,  with  his 
assistance,  never  to  abuse  the  reason  he  has  merci- 
fully bestowed  upon  us." 


I  AST    BIRTH-DAY.  63 

"  Tell  me  about  some  of  the  mad  people,"  said 
Harry,  "as  you  know  about  so  many." 

"  It's  an  odd  thing,"  said  Alan,  as  he  proceeded 
to  comply  with  Harry's  request,  "  that  so  many 
half-witted  people  should  have  such  a  liking  to  a 
soldier's  life  ;  but  perhaps  it  may  be  the  showiness 
of  soldiers'  clothes  that  pleases  them.  Job  Kimley 
was  in  the  work-house  fifty  years  ago ;  but  when- 
ever he  could  get  out  of  it  and  join  the  soldiers  of  a 
recruiting  party,  he  was  in  his  glory.  Often  have 
I  seen  him  at  the  head  of  a  party,  carrying  the 
sergeant's  sword,  while  the  shrill  fife  has  sounded 
through  my  ears,  the  rattling  drum  raised  the  whole 
neighborhood,  and  the  broad  flag,  with  its  blue  and 
red  colors,  waved  to  and  fro  in  the  breeze." 

"I  dare  say  he  thought  himself  a  line  fellow, 
carrying  the  sergeant's  sword,"  observed  Harry. 

"  He  did,"  continued  Alan ;  "  and  being  a  light- 
hearted,  good-tempered  fellow,  the  soldiers  liked 
him  as  well  as  he  liked  the  soldiers.  This  was  not 
the  case  with  Bill  Dike,  for  though  he  was  as  fond  of 
carrying  a  sword  as  Job  Kimley,  yet  his  bad  temper 
brought  upon  him  much  ill-will ;  often  while  Job 
marched  with  the  sergeant,  laughing,  with  a  bunch 
of  ribands  in  his  cap,  poor  Bill  followed  the  corporal 
crying,  with  no  cap  at  all  on  his  head,  and  his  face, 
splashed  over  with  mud.  To  pinch  and  pelt  Cry- 
ing Billy,  as  they  called  him,  was  a  favorite  diver- 
sion with  many;  but  neither  pelting  nor  pinching 
could  break  him  of  the  habit  of  following  soldiers." 
"  I  remember  seeing  Crying  Billy,"  said  Frank, 


64  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

"  when  the  soldiers  had  stripped  him  naked,  rubbed 
him  over  with  tar,  and  rolled  him  in  feathers;  and 
of  all  the  outlandish  creatures  that  I  ever  set  eyes 
on,  nothing  came  up  to  him.  There  he  was  march- 
ing along,  with  a  stick  in  his  hand  for  a  sword.  If 
you'd  'a'  seen  him,  Harry,  you  wouldn't  'a'  known 
whether  he  had  bin  a  fish,  a  bird,  or  a  wild  animal 
o'  the  woods,  for  he  looked  as  much  like  the  one  as 
the  other." 

"  The  pranks  that  they  used  to  play  him  were  but 
little  to  their  credit, — indeed  it  was  quite  wicked," 
said  Alan  ;  "  to  take  advantage  of  those  who  are 
afflicted  in  mind  or  body,  is  mean  and  cruel.  '  To 
him  that  is  afflicted  pity  should  be  shown ;'  and 
'blessed  are  the  merciful;  for  they  shall  obtain 
mercy.'  We  should  pity,  and  never  abuse  or  laugh 
at  the  unfortunate." 

"  Do  you  remember  any  other  mad  people  beside 
Job  Kimley  and  Bill  Dike  ?"  inquired  Harry  ;  "  for 
I  like  to  hear  about  them." 

"  It  would  never  do,"  replied  Alan,  "  to  tell  you 
about  half  those  that  I  remember ;  but  as  I  hope  and 
trust  you  would  be  ashamed  to  behave  ill  to  any 
poor  creature  whose  wits  were  disturbed,  so  I  will 
tell  you  of  two  or  three  more.  Bob  Arnold,  who 
went  by  the  name  of  Bustling  Bob,  used  to  be  the 
busiest  fellow  in  the  work-house.  Morning,  noon, 
or  night,  in  doors  or  out,  fair  weather  or  foul,  you 
could  never  see  Bob  without  finding  him  over  head 
and  ears  in  business,  though  all  that  the  poor  fellow 
did  amounted  to  nothing.     He  could  not  make  a 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  65 

single  figure,  and  yet  he  undertook  to  settle  all  the 
accounts  of  the  work-house.  He  knew  not  how  to 
write  his  name,  yet  whenever  he  could  lay  hold  of 
a  piece  of  paper,  and  get  pen  and  ink,  he  scribbled 
away  as  though  the  whole  affairs  of  the  parish  de- 
pended on  his  management.  Many  a  scrawl  did  he 
put  in  the  letter-box  at  Molly  Sutton's." 

"  Ay,  ay !"  said  Frank ;  "  and  Molly  used  to  be 
as  cross  as  two  sticks  about  it.  I  once  went  to  Bob 
myself,  with  a  sheet  o'  writing  paper.  '  Bob,'  says 
I,  '  will  you  write  me  a  letter  to  the  Squire,  for, 
mayhap,  you  being  such  a  dabster  at  your  pen,  he'll 
pay  more  attention  to  you  than  to  me.'  Down  sat 
Bob,  without  my  saying  another  word,  and  in  ten 
minutes,  the  whole  sheet  o'  paper  was  scored  over, 
wrapped  up  and  directed,  but  in  a  mighty  odd 
fashion.  Off  he  set  with  it  to  Molly  Sutton's, 
looking  as  big  as  a  justice  o'  the  peace.  The  next 
time  I  met  him,  I  asked  him  what  the  letter  was  all 
about  ?  '  What !'  says  he,  'do  you  want  me  to  tell 
a  secret?  No,  no;  Bob  Arnold  never  tells  any 
body  what  he  writes  about.'" 

"  That  wasn't  the  only  prank  you  played  him,  by 
a  good  many,"  said  Etherd  Morris. 

"Mayhap  not,"  replied  Frank,  laughing;  "but 
we  were  always  good  friends,  and  I  never  hurt  a 
hair  of  his  head  in  my  life." 

"  One  of  the  oddest  characters  that  I  ever  remem- 
ber being  in  the  work-house,"  continued  Alan,  "  was 
Alex  Hyatt ;  for,  though  he  was  really  as  harmless 
as  a  lamb,  he  generally  looked  as  fierce  as  a  tiger. 


66  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

When  allowed  to  go  out  of  the  work-house,  he  used 
to  take  long  rambles,  for  the  open  air  was  pleasani 
to  him  ;  the  hips  and  haws*  on  the  hedges,  with  the 
green  fields  to  roam  in,  pleased  him  better  than  the 
mutton  broth  and  potatoes  that  he  got  in  the  work 
house." 

"  He's  frightened  me  many  a  time,"  said  Etherd, 
"  and  many  another  beside  me.  They  should  'a 
kept  him  in  doors,  and  not  let  him  go  hallooing  and 
scampering  over  the  country  as  he  used  to  do." 

"  Oh,  he  never  hurt  any  body,"  said  Frank ; 
"and  why  shouldn't  he  have  a  mouthful  o'  fresh 
air  as  well  as  the  best  on  us.  To  see  him  brandish 
his  great  stick  in  the  air,  and  hear  his  big  words, 
was  enough  to  make  one  think  he'd  a  mind  to 
knock  one's  brains  out;  but  when  one  came  up  to 
him,  he  was  as  mild  as  a  babe." 

"  But  what  made  him  brandish  his  great  stick  ?" 
asked  Harry. 

"  It  would  be  a  hard  matter,"  replied  Alan,  "  to 
give  a  reason  for  the  actions  of  poor  creatures  who 
are  beside  themselves.  Alex  would  often  stop  short, 
leap  up  in  the  air,  strike  his  bosom  with  his  fist,  and 
wave  his  hat  in  one  hand,  while  he  flourished  his 
cudgel  with  the  other ;  but  the  moment  any  one 
spoke  to  him,  he  gave  over  his  antics.  Many  a  time 
has  he  shaken  me  by  the  hand,  and  told  me  that  he 
was  a  man  of  education.  We  are  commanded  to  '  be 
kindly  affectioned  one  to  another;'  and  we  ought  to 


*  Berries. 


LAST    BIRTH-DAY.  67 

show  special  kindness  to  those  who  are  weak  and 
defenceless.  Reason  is  one  of  our  greatest  blessings, 
and  the  loss  of  it  one  of  the  greatest  calamities. 
Whenever  you  look  on  the  work-house,  Harry,  be 
grateful  to  God  that  you  are  not  living  within  its 
walls;  and  whenever  you  meet  with  anyone,  young 
or  old,  whose  wits  are  impaired,  use  him  kindly, 
and  call  to  remembrance  how  many  mercies  you 
possess  which  he  cannot  partake  of.  How  long 
your  faculties  may  be  spared  God  only  knows; 
while  you  have  them,  then,  devote  them  to  his  glory. 
I  was  once  careless  about  these  things,  and  it  be- 
comes me  to  warn  you,  that  you  are  not  careless 
too  The  older  I  get,  the  more  I  am  struck  with  a 
sense  of  my  infirmities,  and  with  the  shortness  of 
life.  Well  may  I  say  with  the  Psalmist,  '  Lord, 
make  me  to  know  mine  end,  and  the  measure  of 
my  days,  what  it  is;  that  I  may  know  how  frail 
I  am.  Behold  thou  hast  made  my  days  as  a  hand- 
breadth,  and  mine  age  is  as  nothing  before  thee: 
verily,  every  man  at  his  best  state  is  altogether 
vanity.' " 

Etherd,  Frank,  and  indeed  Harry  Gilbert,  too, 
would  have  been  well  content  if  Alan  had,  omitted 
one  half  of  the  texts  of  Scripture  which  fell  from  his 
lips;  for,  though  always  accustomed  in  his  convers- 
ation to  quote  Scripture,  Alan  was  especially  dis- 
posed to  do  so  on  the  return  of  his  birth-day, 
soiemnized  as  his  mind  was  with  the  impression, 
that  his  next  birth-day  would  be  passed  in  a  world 
of  glory.     Alan  loved  the  Scriptures  unfeignedly. 


OS  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

He  regarded  his  Bible,  "  not  as  the  word  of  men,  but 
as  it  is,  in  truth,  the  Word  of  God."  He  found  in  it 
that  hope  of  eternal  life,  without  which  a  repentant 
sinner  may  well  despair,  "  a  good  hope  through 
grace ;"  "  an  anchor  of  the  soul  both  sure  and  stead- 
fast." The  knowledge  that  Jesus  Christ  came  to 
seek  and  "to  save  that  which  was  lost,"  acted  as  a 
cordial  to  his  spirit,  and  the  book  which  contained 
it  was  reverenced  and  loved.  No  wonder,  then, 
that  he  had  a  text  of  Scripture  so  often  on  his  lips. 
Alan  had  got  a  seed-cake  baked  ready  for  his 
birth-day,  and,  as  he  finished  his  last  text,  he  went 
into  his  cottage  for  it  that  he  might  set  it  before  his 
friends. 


CHAPTER   VII. 


THE    PUBLIC-HOUSE. 

The  Seedcake  —  The  Public-house — Burton,  the  Landlord  — His 
miserable  death  —  Bill  Rogers  and  his  Wife  —  Tompkins  —  Harry 
Tonics — Luke  and  Charles  Barnes  —  The  Quarrel  —  The  Letter  — 
Bitterness  of  Revenge  —  Death  of  Charles  Barries  —  Ralph  Peters 
—  Richard  Langford  —  Mary  Lane  —  The  Fire  —  Mary  Lane's 
Death  —  Ralph  Peters  Transported. 

When  people  have  been  long  accustomed  to  each 
other's  company,  they  are  able  to  bear  with  each 
other's  habits  and  tempers.  Had  Alan  Gilbert  and 
his  friends  met  as  strangers,  Alan  would  have  been 
afflicted  by  the  ill-timed  levity  of  Frank  Redding, 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  69 

and  the  morose  waspishness  of  Etherd ;  while  the 
latter  two  would  have  scarcely  endured  the  gravity 
of  Alan,  and  the  texts  of  Scripture  with  which  he 
continually  garnished  his  conversation ;  but,  as  it 
was,  the  particular  habits  of  one  seemed  little  to 
affect  the  others.  The  jokes  of  Redding  were  things 
which  happened  of  course,  the  ill-temper  of  Morris 
passed  by  but  little  noticed,  and  the  scriptural 
phrases  and  religious  remarks  of  Alan  Gilbert  fell 
on  the  ears  of  his  friends  without  annoying  them. 

When  Alan  came  back  again  with  the  seed-cake, 
he  had  a  piece  of  paper  in  his  hand,  folded  up  like  a 
letter :  this  he  put  down  on  the  table,  and  began  to 
cut  up  the  cake.  "  It  is  but  a  plain  one,"  said  he, 
as  he  handed  a  thick  slice  to  his  two  friends;  "but 
we  are  none  of  us  accustomed  to  any  other  than 
plain  food,  and  so  it  won't  matter." 

"To  my  mind,"  said  Frank  Redding,  after  he 
had  eaten  a  mouthful,  "there  never  need  be  made  a 
better ;  I  should  like  a  slice  of  such  a  cake  as  this 
every  day  o'  the  week,  and  two  on  a  Sunday  ;  but  1 
may  whistle  for  it,  and  not  get  it  for  all  that." 

"  The  cake  is  well  enough,"  said  Etherd  ;  "  right 
few  cakes  are  to  be  got  now  a-days  ;  it's  as  much  as 
a  working  man  can  do  to  get  bread  and  cheese :  it 
had  not  used  to  be  so.  I've  known  the  time  when  a 
poor  man  wasn't  screwed  down  as  he  is  now ;  the 
big  folks  will  hardly  let  us  have  saft  to  our  porridge." 

"  It's  a  good  thing,"  said  Alan,  as  he  gave  a  slice 
of  the  cake  to  his  grandson,  and  cut  another  for 
himself,  "  it's  a  good  thing,  no  doubt,  to  have  much  j 


70  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

but  it  is  a  much  better  thing  to  be  satisfied  with  little. 
'Godliness  with  contentment  is  great  gain.'  A  man 
should  remember  that  he  has  a  soul  as  well  as  a 
body  to  feed,  and  he  should  not  fatten  the  one 
and  starve  the  other.  It's  as  great  a  blessing  to 
have  a  good  appetite,  as  to  have  good  food  to  eat ; 
and  if,  as  one  says,  we  get  up  from  table  with  an 
appetite,  we  are  not  likely  to  sit  down  to  it  without 
one." 

"  Many  a  jovial  bout  have  I  had  down  at  that 
inn,  yonder,"  said  Frank.  "  Old  Burton  was  as 
jolly  a  landlord  as  ever  drew  a  pint  of  beer,  and 
he  knew  how  to  keep  one  to  the  drink  too,  as 
well  as  here  and  there  one.  If  I  had  all  the 
money  that  I  have  fooled  away  in  that  kitchen,  it 
would  come  to  a  pretty  penny  ;  sometimes  it  vexes 
me  to  think  on  it,  but  it's  no  use  sorrowing  about  it 
for  ever." 

"  Our  sorrow  for  sin,"  said  Alan,  "  should  last  as 
long  as  we  have  sin  to  sorrow  for;  the  history  of 
the  inn,  if  it  could  be  told,  would  be  a  dismal  one. 
I  don't  mean  to  say  that  public-houses  are  not  ne- 
cessary things;  travellers  must  be  provided  for,  and 
good  entertainment  for  man  and  horse  is  what  people 
look  for:  but  I  do  say  that  cursing  and  swearing, 
quarrelling  and  fighting,  rioting  and  drunken  fro- 
lics, are  not  only  what  we  ought  to  be  ashamed  of, 
but  sins  before  Go*b,  for  which  we  may  well  expect 
to  be  called  to  account.  You  remember  how  old 
Burton  used  to  live,  and  I  have  not  forgotten  how 
he  died.5' 


Last  birth-day.  71 

u  There  were  some  ugly  things  whispered  about 
him  ;"  said  Etherd  Morris. 

"  Ay !  and  those  things  were  true,"  replied  Alan. 
"In  his  last  sickness,  nothing  would  do  but  he  must 
have  a  hottle  of  brandy  by  his  bedside.  He  thought 
little  about  heaven  in  his  life,  but  a  great  deal  about 
hell  in  his  death;  and  instead  of  humbly  seeking 
that  repentance  and  grace  which  are  not  denied  to 
the  im worthiest  of  God's  creatures,  who  seek  them 
in  the  prevailing  name  of  Jesus  Christ,  he  drank 
glass  after  glass  of  brandy,  as  though  that  would 
drive  away  the  fear  of  death  !  He  rolled  about  the 
bed,  and  roared  in  his  pain,  for  his  heart  was  hot 
and  impatient,  and  his  conscience  goaded  him.  At 
one  time  he  declared  that  he  could  not  die ;  at 
another,  he  swore  that  he  would  not  die  ;  but  for  all 
that  he  did  die,  and  his  death  was  terrible.  It  is  an 
especial  mercy  to  have  the  fear  of  death  taken  away 
before  death  comes;  but  it  is  not  hard  drinkiing 
that  will  do  that  for  us.  Burton  was  as  bold  as  a 
lion  when  in  health,  but  sickness  made  him  tremble 
at  his  own  shadow.  It  was  a  blessed  confidence 
that  David  had,  when  he  said,  {  Though  I  walk 
through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  I  will 
fear  no  evil :  for  thou  art  with  me ;  thy  rod  and  thy 
staff,  they  comfort  me.'  " 

Alan  Gilbert  cut  several  thick  slices  of  cake,  and 
bid  Etherd  and  Frank  help  themselves. 

"  I  rather  think,"  said  Alan,  still  taking  the  lead 
in  the  conversation,  "that  that  inn  has  brought 
about  more  mischief  in  the  village  than  most  people 


72  ALAN  gilbert's 

think  for.  Every  body  knows  that  Bill  Rogers  drank 
himself  to  death  there,  and  that  his  wife  followed 
her  husband's  example  in  drinking,  till  she  found 
her  way  into  the  work-house.  It  was  there  that 
Tomkins,  Colonel  Snyder's  groom,  drank  glasses  of 
gin  with  Humphrey  Haines,  till  one  fell  down  in  a 
fit  and  the  other's  life  was  given  over.  Haines  was 
liable  to  fits  all  his  days  after,  and  at  last  died  in 
one.  It  was  at  that  inn  that  Lawyer  Piggot's  man 
lost  so  much  money  at  cards  and  dice,  that  he  robbed 
his  master  to  make  it  up,  and  got  sent  to  jail  for  it." 

"  It  didn't  matter  much  who  robbed  him,"  said 
old  Etherd  ;  "  for  he  robbed  every  body." 

"  Piggots  was  a  bad  man,"  resumed  Alan  Gilbert. 
"  but  that  was  no  reason  why  his  servant  should  be 
bad  too.  Then  there  was  Harry  Tonks,  the  mason's 
son ;  poor  lad,  I  was  sorry  to  see  how  his  father 
brought  him  up  from  his  very  cradle  to  drink  gin. 
It  was  no  use  talking  to  Tonks,  for  whenever  his 
son  came  to  the  inn,  to  fetch  him  home,  nothing 
would  satisfy  him,  but  making  the  lad  drink.  No 
wonder  the  poor  fellow  never  could  stand  his  work : 
his  father  was  always  wondering  what  was  the  mat- 
ter with  him,  when  he  need  not  have  wondered  at 
all  about  it,  for  every  body  else  saw  clear  enough 
that  he  was  killing  his  son  by  inches,  in  making  him 
drink  gin.  Tonks's  eyes  were  opened  too  late  ;  for 
it  was  not  till  he  had  lost  his  son  that  he  saw  through 
his  error." 

"  How  old  was  he,  Grandfather  ?"  inquired  Harry 
Gilbert. 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  ?3> 

u  Sixteen  when  he  died,"  replied  Alan  ;  "  and  if 
he  had  not  been  a  gin-drinker,  perhaps  he  might 
have  been  alive  now." 

"As  to  that  matter,"  said  Frank  Redding,  "you 
know,  Master  Gilbert,  that  I  have  taken  a  glass  of 
gin,  now  and  then,  all  my  days,  and  yet,  though  no 
youngster,  I  am  as  hearty  as  a  four-year  old." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  said  Alan  ;  "  but  where  one  can 
drink  much  gin  without  mischief,  twenty  injure  the 
health  of  their  bodies  by  it,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
mischief  done  to  their  souls.  You  said,  just  now, 
that  you  had  fooled  away  a  pretty  penny  in  the 
kitchen  of  the  inn ;  but  the  time  wasted  there  was 
quite  as  valuable  as  the  money,  and  if  half  of  it  had 
been  spent  in  reading  the  Word  of  God,  and  in  pon- 
dering the  precious  promises  of  the  Gospel  of  Jesus 
Christ,  mayhap  you  would  have  been  quite  as 
happy  in  this  world  as  you  are  now,  and  been  able 
to  look  forward  to  another  with  a  brighter  hope." 

"It  might  be  so;  but  it's  too  late  to  think  o'  that 
now,"  said  Frank. 

"  Better  late  than  never,"  replied  Alan.  "  In  my 
own  case,  drawing  toward  my  latter  end,  moments 
are  precious.  If  I  did  not  feel,  sinner  as  I  am,  that 
the  atoning  sacrifice  of  the  Saviour  of  sinners  is 
sufficient  to  blot  out  all  my  transgressions ;  if,  with 
the  view  of  death  before  me,  I  had  not  a  good  hope 
through  grace  of  an  everlasting  life,  I  think  that  I 
should  be  miserable.  What  has  the  whole  world  to 
bestow  on  an  old  man,  tottering  on  the  brink  of  the 
grave,  that  can  be  compared  with  that  glorious  pro- 
7 


,4 

mise:  'Then  shall- the  King  say  unto  them  at -his 
right  hand,  Come,  ye  blessed  of  my  Father,  inherit 
the  kingdom  prepared  for  you  from  the  foundation 
of  the  world." 

Frank  and  Etherd,  though  they  seemed  a  little 
struck  with  the  earnest  manner  in  which  Alan  Gil- 
bert spoke  these  words,  were  both  of  them  anxious 
to  turn  the  conversation. 

"  It's  an  odd  thing,"  observed  Etherd,  "that  no- 
body hears  nothing  of  Luke  Barnes.  It's  a  matter 
o'  ten  years  since  he  went  away,  and  six  or  seven 
since  his  brother  died,  and  yet  he  has  never  come 
to  see  after  things.  There  must  be  som'at  coming 
to  him  worth  catching  hold  of,  if  all  as  I  hears  be 
true." 

"  Why,"  said  Alan,  unfolding  the  paper  that  lay 
on  the  table,  "I  brought  down  Luke's  letter  to  his 
brother,  to  read  to  you,  and  I  had  forgotten  it." 

"I  have  heard  you  speak  o'  that  letter  afore 
now,"  said  Frank  Redding  ;  "  but  I  never  heard  you 
read  it." 

"  Well,  then,  you  shall  hear  me  read  it  now," 
said  Alan.  "  You  know  that  Luke  Barnes  and  his 
brother  Charles  had  been,  what  is  called,  well 
brought  up,  both  of  them  having  received  a  good 
education  ;  but,  in  my  opinion,  no  one  can  be  well 
brought  up  who  is  not  brought  up  in  the  fear  of  the 
Lord,  and  in  this  respect  both  Charles  and  Luke 
had  been  sadly  neglected.  Charles,  being  the  elder 
brother,  thought  he  had  some  right  to  domineer  over 
his  brother,  and  Luke  had  too  proud  a  heart  to  bear 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  75' 

it.  They  quarrelled  bitterly,  and  did  not  meet  for 
some  time,  till  their  mother  died,  and  then  they  bent- 
sullenly  together  over  their  mother's  grave.  One 
might  have  tVjught  that  the  loss  of  their  mother 
would  have  softened  their  hearts,  but  it  did  not. 
After  that  their  father  died,  and  once  more  they 
went  into  the  church-yard,  each  wearing  a  hat-band: 
and  a  mourning  cloak  ;  but  still  their  hearts  were- 
too  hard  to  be  softened,  and  too  bitter  to  be  subdued. 
Luke,  however,  took  his  Bible,  but  Charles  fre- 
quented the  inn,  and  the  consequence  was,  that 
Charles  got  more  hard-hearted,  and  Luke  more  af- 
fectionate. Luke  tried  all  in  his  power  to  be  on 
good  terms  with  his  brother:  he  prayed  for  him,  he 
wrote  to  him,  he  humbled  himself  before  him,  but  it 
was  all  in  vain ;  for  the  more  humble  he  was,  the 
prouder  his  brother  became." 

"Charles  was  a  proud  'un,  sure  enough,"  said 
Frank,  "  and  as  hard  as  a  flint  stone." 

"Before  Luke  went  over  to  America,"  continued 
Alan,  "for  an  uncle,  who  was  doing  well  there,  had 
sent  for  him,  he  was  very  anxious  to  shake  hands 
with  his  brother.  '  We  may  never  meet  again  in 
this  world,'  said  he  ;  ( let  us, 'then,  part  in  good-wil. 
and  affection.'  He  got  a  friend  to  call  upon  him. 
but  it  was  all  in  vain.  Charles  hated  his  brother,  and 
drank  hard  that  he  might  keep  his  determination  of 
not  being  persuaded  to  see  him,  so  that  Luke  had 
no  means  left  but  that  of  trying  to  move  him  by 
writing  him  another  and  a  last  letter.  This  is  that 
very  letter,  for  it  came  into  my  hands  after  Charles 


76  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

Barnes  was  under  the  turf.  It's  a  little  worn  by 
folding  and  unfolding,  and  blotted  and  blurred  with 
hot  scalding  tears;  but  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  able  to 
make  it  out.  You  see  it  is  written  in  a  good  hand, 
though  the  ink  is  rather  pale. 

"cMy  Brother, — You  know  that  I  am  about  to 
cross  the  world  of  waters,  wherein,  unless  I  am 
protected  by  His  almighty  power  who  holds  the 
sea  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  I  may  be  overwhelm- 
ed. Let  the  past  be  forgiven  and  forgotten.  I  feel 
that  I  have  acted  foolishly,  and  I  acknowledge  my 
error;  forgive  me,  bearing  in  mind  that,  howevei 
unworthy  I  may  be,  I  am  still  your  brother.  "  How 
good,  and  how  pleasant  it  is  for  brethren  to  dwell 
together  in  unity."  We  have  already  made  bitter 
the  death-beds  of  our  parents ;  let  us  not  add  bitter- 
ness to  our  own.  If  I  should  never  come  back 
again,  I  cannot  again  offend  you  ;  and  if  I  should 
return,  it  may  be  that  I  may  be  called,  one  day,  to 
follow  you  to  the  grave,  and  then  my  unkindness 
toward  you  would  afflict  me.  But  it  may,  in  Goo's 
providence,  fall  upon  you  to  follow  my  mouldering 
dust  to  '  the  house  appointed  for  all  living.'  Charles, 
the  dust  and  earth  rattling  on  the  coffin-lid  of 
your  brother,  will  sound  harshly  in  your  ears,  it 
you  show  me  not  that  mercy  which  you  yourselt 
require.  We  are  all  hastening  to  the  grave;  let  us, 
then,  forgive  each  other,  and  love  one  another,  for 
the  Saviour  of  the  world  requires  this  at  our  hands. 
"  If  ye  forgive  men  their  trespasses,  your  heavenly 


LAST  BIRTH-DAY.  7? 

Father  will  also  forgive  you ;  but  if  ye  forgive  not 
men  their  trespasses,  neither  will  yonr  Father  for- 
give your  trespasses."  I  want  not  any  thing  you 
possess  ;  but  to  take  you  by  the  hand  before  I  leave, 
will  give  comfort  to  my  heart. 

Your  friend  and  brother, 
Luke  Barnes. 


was  in  his  cups  at  the  inn,  and  clenching  his  fist 
he  struck  the  table,  with  an  oath  declaring  that  he 
wouldn't  stretch  out  his  hand  to  save  Luke  from 
drowning.  Poor  Luke  sent  him  his  blessing,  and 
sailed  across  the  salt  seas,  but  from  that  hour  to 
this  no  tidings  have  been  heard  of  him.  Soon 
after  he  left  England,  Charles  was  taken  ill,  his 
body  was  worn  with  sickness,  and  his  proud,  bitter 
spirit  brought  down.  Then  came  the  report,  per- 
haps too  true,  that  his  brother  Luke  had  suffered 
shipwreck,  and  was  drowned  ;  and  then  came,  too, 
the  remembrance  of  his  oath,  that  he  wouldn't 
stretch  out  his  hand  to  save  him  from  drowning* 
Remorse  stung  him  like  a  serpent;  at  times  he  wept 
in  silence,  and  by  fits  raved  to  see  his  brother;  but 
it  was  too  late,  for  Luke  most  likely  was  food  for 
the  fishes  of  the  sea,  or,  if  alive  and  well,  the  waves; 
Of  the  mighty  deep  were  rolling  between  them,  and 
he  could  not  see  him.  Charles  made  a  will,  and 
left  all  he  had  to  his  brother,  in  case  he  was  alive.,, 
but  he  himself  died  overcome  with  repentance  and 
remorse.  If  Charles  had  drank  less,  or,  rather,  II 
7* 


78  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

should  say,  had  not  drank  at  all,  and  had  read  his 
Bible  more,  things  might  have  been  different  with 
him.  We  are  poor  creatures  if  left  to  ourselves,  but 
when  our  passions  are  heated  by  drinking,  nothing 
less  than  God's  grace  can  control  us." 

"I  should  think  Luke  would  never  come  back 
again  now,"  said  Etherd. 

"  Mayhap  not,"  said  Alan,  "  for  it's  hardly  likely 
that,  if  alive,  he  has  heard  any  thing  of  the  death  of 
his  brother.  It's  a  bitter  thing  when  a  man  gives 
way  to  a  revengeful  disposition.  'Vengeance  is 
mine,  I  will  repay,  saith  the  Lord.'  Had  Ralph 
Peters  tried  to  quiet  himself,  and  subdue  the  bitter- 
ness of  his  spirit,  instead  of  inflaming  himself  with 
strong  drink,  he  might  have  ended  his  days  in  this 
village,  and  not  been  transported  ;  but  he  was 
drinking  at  the  inn,  and  railing  against  Richard 
Langford,  when  he  ought  to  have  been  on  his 
knees  praying  for  grace  that  his  anger  might  be 
abated." 

"  What  was  he  transported  for  ?"  asked  Harry 
Gilbert. 

"I  will  tell  you,"  replied  Alan,  "and  let  it  be  a 
warning  to  you  as  long  as  you  live.  Ralph  Peters 
had  a  cousin  of  the  name  of  Mary  Lane,  and  he  was 
Tery  fond  of  her,  but  Richard  Langford  he  never 
could  abide.  It  so  happened  that  Langford  married 
Mary  Lane,  and  that  made  Ralph  hate  him  worse 
than  ever.  It  was  at  a  harvest-home  supper  that 
Peters  and  Langford  quarrelled.  What  it  was  about 
I  never  could  learn,  but  whatever  it  was,  Ralph 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  79 

Peters  swore  that  he  would  be  revenged.  Langford 
was  a  small  farmer,  and  had  a  wheat-rick  standing 
close  to  the  kid  pile  at  the  end  of  his  house.  It's  a 
horrible  tale;  however,  I'll  make  it  as  short  as  I 
can.  The  next  night  Ralph  Peters  went  to  the  inn, 
where  he  found  plenty  of  people  ready  to  join  him 
in  railing  against  Langford,  who  was,  indeed,  ari 
ill-tempered  fellow.  About  ten  o'clock,  Ralph, 
who  was  by  that  time  ready  for  any  mischief,  stole 
out  at  the  back-door  of  the  inn,  with  his  pipe  in  his 
mouth,  and  made  the  best  of  his  way  to  Langford's 
wheat-rick.  Wretched  man  !  could  he  have  seen 
what  he  was  about  to  bring  on  himself,  he  would 
have  trembled.  The  night  was  rather  dark,  and 
the  wind  was  blowing  fresh,  as  Ralph  stooped  down 
to  get  a  dry  stick,  and  to  put  a  piece  of  soft  paper 
on  the  grass  ;  he  then  emptied  the  burning  tobacco 
out  of  his  pipe  on  to  the  paper,  and  blowing  it, 
soon  had  flame  enough  to  light  the  stick  with.  All 
this  was,  as  he  afterward  said,  done  in  a  few  se- 
conds ;  the  burning  stick  was  then  stuck  into  the 
wheat-rick,  and  back  again  went  Ralph  Peters  to 
the  inn  as  hard  as  he  could  drive.  He  went  in  at 
the  back-door  and  sat  down  among  the  company, 
no  one  supposing  he  had  been  off  the  premises. 
In  about  twenty  minutes,  a  loud  cry  of  Fire  !  fire  ! 
reached  the  inn,  and  every  one  ran  out  to  know  all 
about  the  matter.  Ralph  Peters  went  among  the 
others,  to  prevent  any  one  from  thinking  that  he 
had  any  hand  in  the  affair.  Ralph  only  expected 
to. see  the  wheat-rick  on  fire,  but  what  was  his 


80  ALAN   GILBERT'S 

horror  to  find,   not  only  that  the  rick,  but   the 
wood-pile  and  the  house  too  were  all  in  flames." 

"  Was  any  body  burnt?"  inquired  Harry,  eagerly. 

"  Quietly,  quietly/'  said  Alan,  "  and  you  will 
hear.  Langford  and  his  wife  had  been  in  bed  half 
an  hour  before  Peters  set  fire  to  the  rick ;  the  wind 
blew  toward  the  wood-pile,  and  that  being  close  to 
the  house,  the  house  was  soon  all  in  a  light  shine. 
Almost  every  body  in  the  village  had  gone  to  bed, 
except  those  who  were  tippling  at  the  inn,  but  one 
of  Croxall's  men.  Croxall  was  a  tanner,  and  lived 
up  at  Ling  House ;  one  of  his  men  happened  to  be 
going  by,  so  he  ran  down  the  village  toward  the 
inn  crying  Fire  !" 

"Ay,  that  was  Jem  Pinks,"  said  Etherd  Morris; 
"  he  told  me  all  about  it  after." 

"What  a  sight  for  Ralph  Peters,"  said  Alan 
Gilbert,  going  on  with  his  story ;  "  there  was  a 
wood-pile  flaring  away  like  fury,  the  wheat-rick  all 
An  a  glow,  and  the  house  with  smoke  and  fire  com- 
ing from  it  in  different  parts.  Richard  Langford 
had  got  out,  leaving  his  wife  behind  him,  but  she 
opened  a  window,  and  cried  out  for  help  in  a  pitiful 
manner.  Langford,  like  a  coward  as  he  was,  never 
atirred  to  assist  her,  but  Ralph  Peters  would  have 
died  to  save  her;  he  burst  open  the  door  like  a 
/nadman,  rushed  up  stairs,  and  brought  down  his 
cousin  in  her  night  clothes,  all  in  flames.  All  that 
fould  be  done  for  Mrs.  Langford  was  done,  but  she 
Was  dreadfully  burnt.  Ralph  Peters  tore  the  hair 
off  his  head,  and  called  himself  her  murderer,  and 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  81 

for  the  matter  of  that,  he  spoke  the  truth,  for  before 
he  Avas  sent  across  the  seas  for  the  crime  he  had 
committed,  his  cousin  Mary  was  laid  in  the  church- 
yard. Had  Ralph  Peters  not  given  way  to  revenge, 
he  would  not  have  been  a  banished  man ;■  and  had 
he  not  inflamed  his  anger  with  strong  drink,  he 
never  would  have  brought  his  cousin  Mary  to  the 
grave." 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  Master  Gilbert,"  said 
Frank  Redding,  "  but  you  seem  to  have  got  together 
a  string  of  dismal  ditties  ;  there  was  a  time  when  I 
looked  after  Mary  Lane  myself,  for  she  was  as  tidy 
a  girl  as  ever  walked  in  shoe  leather ;  but  I  was 
rather  slow  in  speaking  out,  and  that  great  hulking 
Langford  somehow  got  afore  me,  and  married  her. 
If  I  could  whimper  at  any  thing,  thinking  of  her 
death  would  make  me  do  it,  but  many  a  year  has 
passed  away  since  then." 

"  Many  a  one  beside  you,"  continued  Alan,  "  was 
fond  of  Mary  Lane ;  but  I  will  now  tell  you  what  I 
have  never  told  you  before.  I  once  heard  her  say 
to  her  mother,  '  Well,  Mother,  you  may  say  what 
you  will  ;  but,  to  my  mind,  Frank  Redding  is  worth 
'em  all  put  together.  I  wish  somebody  would  do 
him  a  good  turn,  and  persuade  him  to  keep  away 
from  the  inn.' " 

As  Alan  spoke,  Frank  looked  earnestly  at  him, 
and  then  turned  away  his  head,  in  the  direction 
where  Langford's  house  once  stood  ;  a  flush  came 
over  his  face,  and  he  drew  the  backs  of  both  his 
hands  across  his  eyes,  one  after  the  other. 


82  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  Alan,  rising  from  his  seat, 
"  that  that  inn  has  produced  a  deal  of  mischief 
among  us.  Rioting,  drunkenness,  gambling,  swear- 
ing, fighting,  and  sabbath-breaking,  have  been  car- 
ried on  there;  and  many  a  one,  in  a  dying  hour 
has  had  reason  to  rue  that  he  ever  passed  the 
threshold  of  that  house.  That  is  a  fearful  text  for 
a  man  given  to  drink  to  think  of,  just  as  he  steps 
into  an  eternal  world:  'No  drunkard  shall  inherit 
the  kingdom  of  God.'  Harry,  don't  forget  that  text. 
Think  upon  it  in  your  youth,  and  you  will  have  the 
less  reason  to  fear  it  in  your  age." 

Here  Alan,  folding  up  the  letter  that  he  had  read, 
walked  with  it  into  his  cottage. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


THE  CHURCH. 

Blake,  the  Mason — Parson  Oldham — Monuments— Old  Gentle- 
man and  Lady — Harmer,  the  Sexton — Death  of  the  Aged  Pair — ■ 
Mysterious  Visit  to  the  Church  —  The  Squire  in  his  Pew  —  Jacob 
Norton  Beating  Time — Abel  Thorn,  the  Laugher— Abel's  Death— 
rhe  Church — Thoughts  on  Death. 

When  Alan  Gilbert  returned,  he  seated  himself 
!n  his  chair,  while  a  fresh  breeze  whispered  in  the 
neighboring  trees.  "  Harry,"  said  he  to  his  grand- 
son, "  you  see  the  church  yonder." 

u  Yes,"  replied  Harry  ;  "  and  the  weathercock  is 


LAST  BfRTH-DAY.  83 

turtvng  round  every  now  and  then  as  if  it  was 
alive  ,  it  changes  about  every  minute." 

uTrue,"  said  Alan;  "but  though  the  weathercock 
changes  about,  the  spire  is  always  pointing  to  hea- 
ten.  Think  of  this,  Harry,  when  I  am  gone;  that 
<unid  the  sundry  and  manifold  changes  of  the  world, 
your  heart  may  surely  there  be  fixed  where  true 
j  )ys  are  alone  to  be  found." 

"  The  last  time  the  spire  was  repaired,"  said 
Etherd  Morris,  '  Blake,  the  mason,  was  fool  enough 
to  stand  on  his  nead  at  the  top  of  it ;  but  he  is  al- 
ways up  to  some  prank  or  another.  The  other  day 
he  leaned  over  the  battlements,  till  I  expected  him 
to  come  tumbling  head  over  heels  into  the  church- 
yard." 

"He's  a  merry  'un,"  said  Frank  Redding,  "and 
knows  a  good  deal  more  about  the  outside  o'  the 
church  than  the  inside.  He'd  rather  stand  on  his 
head  on  the  steeple,  than  sit  m  a  pew  to  hear  a  ser- 
mon. J  remember  Parson  Oldham  being  buried  in 
the  chancel ;  a  pretty  fuss  was  made  about  him.  I 
never  heard  of  his  going  into  a  poor  man's  cottage, 
though  he  could  find  his  way  fast  enough  up  to  the 
hall." 

"  As  to  that,"  said  Alan,  "  there  have  been  minis- 
ters in  every  denomination  of  Christians  who  have 
not  been  as  consistent  as  they  ought  to  have  been, 
and  God  knows  it  is  the  same  with  us  all ;  we  are 
all  more  careful  for  the  bits  and  drops  that  support 
these  perishing  bodies,  than  we  are  for  the  bread 
and  the  water  of  eternal  life.     When  a  minister  is 


84  ALAN   GILBERT'S 

a  true  and  humble  servant  of  his  heavenly  Master, 
and  preaches  the  glad  tidings  of  salvation  through 
the  Saviour  of  siuners,  I  cannot  but  think  him  wor- 
thy of  more  honor  than  the  high  and  the  mighty  of 
the  earth;  but  when  he  forgets  his  errand,  when 
he  forgets  that  his  business  in  the  world  is  to  guide 
and  lead  his  fellow-sinners  to  glory ;  and,  more 
than  all,  when  forgetful  of  his  own  soul,  and  of  the 
account  he  has  to  render  of  his  stewardship,  he  be- 
comes covetous  of  worldly  riches,  and  gasps  after 
worldly  honors,  it  is  indeed  a  grievous  thing;  and 
well  may  he  read  with  fear  the  words,  '  but  know 
thou  that,  for  all  these  things,  God  will  bring  thee 
into  judgment.'  Whatever  may  be  said  of  Parson 
Oldham,  we  can't  say  any  thing  against  the  parson 
we  have  now  got ;  he  is  a  zealous  servant  of  God: 
he  reproves  the  high  and  the  low ;  he  visits  the 
1  widow  and  the  fatherless  in  their  afflictions  ;'  he  is 
a  father  to  the  poor,  and  the  cause  that  he  knoweth 
not  he  searcheth  out." 

Harry,  who  listened  to  every  word  that  was 
spoken  by  his  grandfather,  asked  him  whose  monu- 
ment it  was  that  had  a  man  in  armor  lying  on  it, 
with  a  sword  by  his  side.  Alan  replied  to  the 
question,  and  then  gave  the  following  narrative :  — 
"  There  is  another  monument  by  the  side  of  that, 
Harry,  which  has  only  W.  H.  and  S.  H.  on  it :  and 
I  don't  think  that  I  have  ever  told  you  any  thing 
about  it,  so  I  will  tell  you  something  about  it  now." 

"  Ay,  do,"  said  Harry ;  "  for  I  like  to  hear  about 
the  monuments." 


LAST  BIRTH-DAY.  85 

u  Years  ago,"  continued  Alan,  "long  before  you 
were  born,  the  road,  instead  of  running  where  it 
does  now,  went  close  to  the  church-yard  wall,  and 
more  persons  used  to  stop  to  see  the  church  than 
now  do.  Many  a  stranger  have  I  seen  stroll  into 
the  church,  old  Harmer,  the  sexton,  leading  the  way, 
with  the  big  keys  dangling  in  his  hand.  The  coat 
of  arms  in  the  window,  with  the  bloody  hand  in  it, 
was  sure  to  be  admired  ;  and  the  stained  glass, 
through  which  the  sun  on  a  summer's  day  poured 
its  rays,  painting  the  flag-stones  in  the  aisles  red, 
blue,  yellow,  and  green.  The  old  marble  monu- 
merits,  too,  were  always  thought  worth  looking  at; 
a  sight  of  money  they  must  have  cost  somebody 
sometime,  especially  that  with  the  man  in  armor 
lying  on  his  back.  The  shirt  of  mail,  the  sword, 
the  spurs,  and  the  helmet  on  his  head,  are  said  to 
be  capital,  though  the  dust  is  often  so  thick  upon 
them  that  one  can't  see  them  properly." 

Harry  Gilbert,  getting  a  little  impatient,  remind- 
ed his  grandfather  that  he  was  to  tell  him  about  the 
monument  with  nothing  but  the  letters  on  it;  but; 
instead  of  that,  he  had  been  telling  him  of  what  he 
had  heard  twenty  times  over. 

"  Young  Harry  will  make  a  keen  young  shaver 
some  day,"  said  Frank  Redding ;  "  it  isn't  an  easy 
thing  to  throw  dust  in  his  eyes;  he  won't  be  satis- 
fied till  you  tell  him  about  the  monument  with  the 
letters  on  it*" 

"  I  hope,"  said  Alan,  "  he'll  make  a  good  Chris- 
tian ;  but  I  was  just  coming  to  the  monument.  Old 
8 


86  A.LAN    GILBERT'S 

folks  are  apt  to  go  a  little  round-about  in  their  sto« 
ries.  It  was  one  summer's  evening,  when  the  sun 
was  just  about  to  go  down  below  the  top  of  the  elm 
trees  yonder,  that  a  chaise  stopped  opposite  the 
church-yard  gate.  An  old  gentleman  and  lady  got 
out  of  it,  and,  sending  the  chaise  down  to  the  inn, 
walked  up  the  stone  steps  into  the  church-yard. 
Old  Harmer  saw  them,  and  soon  joined  them,  jing- 
ling his  keys-  and  asking  them  if  they  would  like  to 
go  inside  the  church.  Any  one  might  see  at  a 
glance  that  the  strangers  were  gentlefolks,  though 
they  were  dressed  as  old-fashioned  as  the  squire's 
great  great  grandfather,  whose  picture  hangs  up  at 
the  hall." 

"  I  remember  'em,"  said  Morris ;  "  but  never 
could  see  the  good  of  their  dressing  themselves  up 
in  a  fashion  different  to  other  people." 

'•'Oh,  it  was  a  good  joke,"  cried  Frank;  "and 
many  a  laugh  have  I  had  at  'em." 

"  You  will  never  laugh  at  a  worthier  couple,"  said 
Alan  ;  "  for  if  ever  two  human  beings  had  the  love 
of  Goo  and  of  thf  ir  fellow-creatures  in  their  hearts, 
surely  they  had.  Well,  into  the  church  they  went, 
and  slopped  there  for  some  time,  and  looked  about 
the  village,  and  talked  to  some  of  us  who  happened 
to  meet  them  ;  but  what  was  stranger  than  all  was, 
that  from  that  day  to  the  day  of  their  death  they 
never  left  the  village.  They  had  the  cottage  yonder 
on  the  hill  put  to  rights  for  them,  and  there  they  lived, 
a  blessing  to  the  whole  neighborhood,  to  the  rich  and 
to  the  poor  j  and  there  they  ended  their  days. 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  87 

u  But  who  were  they  ?"  asked  Harry,  looking  up 
at  his  grandfather. 

"  That,"  replied  Alan,  "  I  never  could  make  out. 
About  twice  a  year  a  livery  servant,  half  covered 
over  witn  gold  lace,  used  to  bring  them  a  packet, 
but  he  never  stopped  in  the  village  to  speak  to  any 
one  ;  and  after  a  time  he  never  came  at  all.  I  have 
heard  say  that  the  gentleman  once  kept  his  coach 
and  six,  and  lived  in  great  style  among  noble 
people;  but  that,  having  taken  to  pious  ways,  he 
left  all  his  greatness  and  his  grandeur,  that  he  and 
his  partner  might  live  a  humble  and  useful  life  in  a 
retired  village,  and  give  up  themselves  more  to 
worship  God,  and  to  meditate  on  his  holy  word. 
How  this  may  be  I  cannot  tell,  but  certain  it  is,  that 
they  were  very  charitable,  and  went  from  house  to 
house,  giving  Bibles  to  the  poor,  and  exhorting  the 
rich  to  lead  a  godly  life  to  the  glory  of  the  Redeem- 
er. They  died  almost  together,  after  giving  direc- 
tions that  nothing  more  should  be  put  upon  their 
tombstone  than  the  letters  W.  H.  and  S.  H.  'The 
eyes  of  the  Lord  are  over  the  righteous,  and  his 
ears  are  open  to  their  prayers;'  and  so  it  was  with 
them,  for  the  longer  they  lived,  the  riper  they  were 
for  glory.  '  Blessed  are  the  dead  which  die  in  the 
Lord,  from  henceforth  ;  yea,  saith  the  Spirit,  that 
they  may  rest  from  their  labors,  and  their  works  do 
follow  them.' " 

"  They  went  the  straight  way  to  heaven,  sure 
enough,"  said  Frank ;  "  for  they  didn't  depend  on 
their  sayings,  but  on  their  doings." 


88  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

"  God  forbid  that  they,  or  any  of  ns,  should 
depend  on  the  one  or  the  other."  replied  Alan.  "  No, 
no;  they  depended  on  the  righteousness  and  sacri- 
fice of  the  Son  of  God.  They  trusted  in  the  Saviour 
of  sinners;  'neither  is  there  salvation  in  any  other; 
for  there  is  none  other  name  under  heaven  given 
among  men,  whereby  we  must  be  saved.'  One  day, 
*n  the  fall  of  the  leaf,  a  carriage  stopped  at  the 
inn,  and  a  fine,  tall,  middle-aged  man,  muffled  up 
in  a  handsome  cloak,  got  out  of  it,  and  asked  where 
the  key  of  the  church  was  kept.  As  the  tall  gentle- 
man moved  on  toward  Harmer's,  I  followed  at  a 
distance;  and  when  he  entered  the  church,  I  enter- 
ed it  too,  without  his  seeing  me.  Old  Harmer 
pointed  to  the  stained  glass,  and  to  the  monument 
with  the  man  in  his  coat  of  mail ;  and  began  a  long 
tale  about  knights  going  to  fight  in  the  Holy  Land ; 
but  he  might  just  as  well  have  talked  to  the  old  sun- 
dial in  the  church-yard,  for  the  tall  gentleman 
never  replied  to  him,  but  stood  still  as  a  statue,  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  slab  with  the  letters  on  it.  How 
long  he  stood  ther^,  I  can't  now  pretend  to  say,  but 
I  could  see  by  the  heaving  of  his  cloak,  that  his 
heart  was  at  work  within  him.  Harmer  left  him 
for  a  minute  or  two,  having  to  fetch  something 
from  the  singing  loft,  and  then  it  was  that  the  gen- 
tleman drew  nearer  to  the  slab.  He  looked  at  the 
letters  steadfastly,  and  I  heard  him  give  a  deep  sob. 
All  of  a  sudden  lie  kneeled  down,  and  pressed  his 
lips  to  the  cold  stone,  and  then  hurried  to  the  door. 
He  put  a  crown-piece  into  old  Harmer's  hand  as  he 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  89 

passed  him,  and  in  two  minutes  more  he  was  in  his 
carriage,  and  off  at  the  rate  of  eight  or  ten  miles  an 
hour." 

"And  did  nobody  know  who  he  was?"  asked 
Harry  Gilbert.  "No,"  replied  Alan,  "and  it's 
hardly  likely  now  that  they  ever  wi]l  know." 

"  The  Squire  goes  to  church  sometimes,"  said 
old  Etherd,  "  but  I  don't  know  what  for,  I  never 
looks  toward  his  pew,  but  he  is  either  staring  about 
him,  or  fast  asleep  up  in  the  corner." 

"It's  a  sad  habit,"  remarked  Alan,  "  but  he  has 
got  many  sad  habits,  and  the  sooner  they  are  left 
off  the  better.  It's  a  solemn  thing  to  meet  in  God's 
house,  without  being  mindful  of  God's  presence. 
When  we  meet  together  to  acknowledge  our  sin 
before  the  face  of  Almighty  God,  '  to  render  thanks 
for.  the  great  benefits  received  at  his  hands,  to  hear 
his  most  holy  word,  and  to  ask  those  things  that  are 
requisite  and  necessary  as  well  for  the  body  as  the 
soul,'  we  ought  to  set  store  by  our  time  instead  of 
wasting  it  in  slumber." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Frank,  "  people  should  be  very 
careful  how  they  get  to  sleep  in  the  church.  A 
pretty  scrape  Jacob  Horton  once  got  into,  on  this 
account.  You  must  know,  that  Jacob  Horton  used 
to  beat  time  up  in  the  singing  loft;  I  can  fancy  that 
I  sees  him  now  thumping  away  with  his  roll  o* 
parchment  on  the  front  of  the  gallery.  Well 
Jacob,  one  Sunday,  overcome  by  the  heat  of  the 
day,  or  one  thing  or  another,  fell  fast  asleep  during 
the  sermon  with  the  parchment  roll  in  his  hand. 
8* 


90  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

After  awhile  he  begins  to  snore,  when  Joe  Perritis, 
to  wake  him,  gives  him  a  sharp  rap  on  the  shoul- 
ders, with  the  end  of  a  clarionet.  Up  jumps  Jacob, 
and,  seeing  the  music-book  open  afore  him,  and 
thinking  the  singing  was  going  on,  begins  to  brand- 
ish his  roll  of  parchment  bravely,  and  to  chaunt  out 
part  of  an  anthem.  Most  of  the  folks  in  the  church 
took  him  to  be  stark  mad,  that's  certain,  but  us  in 
the  singing  loft  knew  better.  It  was  some  time, 
however,  afore  Jacob  could  be  pulled  down  to  his 
seat,  and  a  good  deal  longer  afore  he  could  hold  up 
his  head  among  the  choir.  If  I  was  to  live  these 
fifty  years,  I  should  never  forget  his  thrashing 
away  at  the  front  of  the  gallery  with  his  parchment 
roll." 

As  Frank  was  laughing  heartily  at  his  own  tale, 
Alan  Gilbert,  who  had  gone  into  the  cottage  to  shut 
the  up-stairs  window,  now  returned  to  his  chair. 

"  You  have  got  a  light  heart,"  said  he  to  Frank, 
"and  there's  a  time  for  all  things.  CA  time  to 
laugh,'  and  'a  time  to  weep,'  but  your  time  for 
laughter  has  been  a  long  one,  for  I  should  think  no 
man  in  the  parish  has  laughed  half  as  much  as  you 
have." 

"  Well,  Master  Gilbert,"  said  Frank,  "  I  take  it 
a  good  laugh  is  a  good  thing,  for  where  is  the  use 
of  making  oneself  miserable?" 

"  I  don't  want  any  one  to  be  miserable,"  replied 
Alan,  "and  yet  it  was  a  wise  man  that  said,  'Sor- 
row is  better  than  laughter,  for  by  the  sadness  of 
the  countenance  the  heart  is  made  better.'    I  once 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  91 

Knew  one,  and  you  knew  him  too,  who  seemed 
always  merry :  he  laughed  in  season  and  out  of 
season,  but  suddenly  his  laughter  was  turned  into 
mourning:  it  was  Abel  Hawthorn.  Abel  had  had  a 
smooth  road  through  life,  and  when  he  came  to  the 
rough  part  of  it,  he  could  not  bear  it.  It  pleased 
God  to  afflict  him,  and  from  that  moment  he  never 
laughed  again.  He  saw  that  his  days  were  num- 
bered, and  though  he  was  ready  to  enjoy  life,  he 
was  not  prepared  to  meet  death.  It  is  a  good  thing 
to  have  the  heart  fixed  '  where  true  joys  are  alone 
to  be  found,'  for  then  we  may  always  rejoice ;  then 
may  we  say,  '  Although  the  fig-tree  shall  not  blos- 
som, neither  shall  fruit  be  in  the  vine  ;  the  labor  of 
the  olive  shall  fail,  and  the  fields  shall  yield  no 
meat ;  the  flock  shall  be  cut  off  from  the  fold,  and 
there  shall  be  no  herd  in  the  stalls ;  yet  I  will 
rejoice  in  the  Lord  ;  I  will  joy  in  the  God  of  my 
salvation.'" 

"  Abel  Hawthorn,"  said  Etherd  Morris,  "  used  to 
be  cracking  his  jokes  at  me,  because  he  said  I  look- 
ed as  sour  as  crab  verjuice;  but  as  sour  as  I  looked 
I  didn't  look  half  so  sour  as  he  did,  when  he  had 
the  consumption  ;  his  cheeks  fell  in,  and  his  body 
wasted  to  a  natomy.  He  had  no  joke  to  throw 
away  then  to  a  dog.  He  lies  in  the  church-yard 
now." 

"I  always  thinks  the  church  is  a  lonesome  place," 
said  Frank,  "  there  are  so  many  folks  buried  about 
it;  but  you,  Master  Gilbert,  thinks  different:  we 
can't  all  think  alike." 


92  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

"  It's  a  pity,"  said  Alan  Gilbert,  "  that  the  church 
should  be  lonesome  to  any  of  us.  When  I  have 
gone  into  it  on  a  Christmas-day,  when  the  sun  has 
been  shining,  with  the  snow  on  the  ground;  when 
the  pulpit,  and  the  pillars,  and  the  singing  loft,  and 
the  pews  have  been  stuck  with  green  mistletoe  and 
bright  holly,  the  red  berries  shining  cheerfully,  I 
have  thought  it  the  pleasantest  place  in  the  world ; 
and  when  our  parson  has  preached  of  heaven  and 
eternal  things,  the  cares  of  the  world  have  been  as 
light  as  a  feather.  Often  has  a  tear  rolled  down  my 
face,  while  my  heart  and  my  spirit  was  rejoicing 
within  me.  No !  No  !  The  church  has  nothing 
lonesome  in  it  when  our  hearts  are  in  tune  to  sing 
the  song  of  the  Lamb,  and  '  Glory  to  God  in  the 
highest.'  " 

"  But  for  all  that,  Master  Gilbert,"  said  Frank, 
shrugging  his  shoulders,  "  it's  an  ugly  thing  to 
think  o'  dying,  and  lying  in  the  church-yard  to 
moulder  to  dust.  I  never  could  make  up  my  mind 
to  think  on  it  without  a  shiver." 

"  There's  no  doubt,"  said  Alan,  "  that  death  to  a 
poor  mortal  creatuie  is  a  sad  affliction,  if  he  has  no 
prospect  beyond  the  grave;  but  when  he  has,  his 
mind  will  not  be  content  to  remain  poking  among 
the  tomb-stones.  He  may  calculate  on  a  peaceful 
death,  who  has  a  bright  hope  of  everlasting  life; 
and  as  to  mouldering  in  the  grave,  he  will  not  fear 
it,  being  enabled  to  say,  'I  know  that  my  Redeemer 
liveth,  and  that  he  si. all  stand  at  the  latter  day  upon 
the  earth :  and  though  after  my  skin  worms  destroy 


LAST    BIRTH-DAY.  93 

this  body,  yet  in  my  flesh  shall  I  see  God.'  I  can't 
help  liking  the  church  ;  when  a  lisping  babe,  I  was 
bapiized  at  the  font  at  one  end  of  it ;  when  a  boy,  I 
said  my  catechism  at  the  chancel  at  the  other; 
when  a  young  man,  I  rung  the  bells  in  the  belfry  ; 
in  the  pews  I  have  sat  some  thousands  of  times  to 
hear  the  word  of  God,  and  the  way  of  salvation 
through  faith  in  Jescs  Christ,  proclaimed  from  the 
pulpit.  In  the  church-yard  lie  the  bones  of  my 
fathers  before  me,  and  there  also  will  mine  soon  be 
gathered.  I  loved  the  church  when  a  child,  I  loved 
it  better  when  I  became  a  man,  but  I  love  it  better 
than  all  in  my  old  age.  Harry,  when  I  am  laid 
below  the  green  grass,  remember  to  keep  the  sab- 
bath-day holy." 

Just  at  this  moment  Alan  got  np  from  his  chair 
to  speak  to  Bailess,  the  mole-catcher,  who  was  pass- 
ing by  a  little  distance  from  the  green,  and  Etherd, 
Frank,  and  young  Harry,  were  again  left  to  them- 
selves. 


94  ALAN    GILEERT'S 

CHAPTER    IX. 

THE  CHURCH-YARD. 

Young  Harmer — The  Grave-stone  Scene  —  Jasper  Andrews  anl 
his  Wife  —  Tlieir  Datb — Hirry  Andrews's  Return  from  Sea  —  Hi 
Agony  at  the  grave  of  his  Parents — Squire  Norton's  Son  and  Daugh 
ter  —  The  Family  Vault  —  Dame  Morris  —  Margaret  Rollins  — 
Williem  Roilins's  Grave  —  Grief  and  Consolation  of  Margare: 
Rollins. 

Bailess,  the  mole-catcher,  being  in  a  hurry,  Alan 
soon  joined  his  friends,  and  began  to  talk  about 
young  Harmer's  last  visit  to  the  church-yard;  his 
words  were  as  follows: — "The  sun  shone  brightly 
on  that  morning,  and  the  birds  were  sweetly  singing 
amid  the  green  trees  and  black  bushes  of  the  parson- 
age garden.  I  was  sitting  on  a  tomb-stone  with  a 
book  in  my  hand,  just  opposite  Harmer's  house. 
As  I  lifted  up  my  eyes  from  my  book,  I  saw  the 
door  open,  and  young  Harmer,  who  was  very  ill, 
wrapped  up  in  a  great  coat,  with  a  stick  in  his  hand, 
come  out.  His  left  hapd  rested  on  the  arm  of  his 
father,  and,  supported  in  this  manner,  he  crossed  the 
turnpike-road,  ascended  the  stone  steps  near  the  old 
sun-dial,  and  walked  slowly  into  the  church-yard. 
Old  Harmer  paid  great  attention  to  his  son  ;  and, 
indeed,  well  he  might,  for  some  time  before  he  had 
one  son  drowned  in  the  river,  and  there  was  every 
prospect  that  he  would  soon  lose  another.     It  was 

melancholy  sight  to  see  young.  Harmer  sitting. 


Last  birth  day.  95 

upon  a  low  grave-stone ;  for  his  great  coat  hung 
loosely  upon  his  wasted  bod}7,  and  the  sharpened 
features  of  his  pale  face  told  a  sad  tale.  As  the  sun 
shone  upon  his  countenance,  it  brightened  up  a  little, 
for  it  had  been  many  a  day  since  he  had  felt  the  sun- 
beam or  the  fresh  breeze.  The  grave-stone  on  which 
he  sat  was  partly  covered  with  moss,  but  a  death's 
head  and  cross-bones,  with  a  broken  hour-glass 
rudely  sculptured  thereon,  might  yet  be  seen.  I 
looked  at  the  poor  lad  as  he  sat  in  the  sun-beam, 
drawing  his  breath  quickly  and  deeply,  and  I  felt  as 
sure  as  if  it  had  been  graven  upon  his  brow,  that  he 
would  walk  In  that  church-yard  no  more.  I  went 
up  and  spoke  kindly  to  him.  It  was  hard  work  to 
say  what  I  wanted  to  say,  but  the  poor  lad  was  on 
the  brink  of  an  eternal  world,  and  it  was  not  a  mo- 
ment to  keep  silence ;  so  I  spoke  of  the  vanity  of 
earthly  things,  of  the  grievous  consequences  of  un- 
repented  sin,  and  the  unspeakable  mercy  of  the  sin- 
ner's Friend  in  pardoning  the  transgressions  of  those 
who  believe  in  his  name.  I  spoke  of  a  state  of 
blessedness  prepared  for  all  who  love  God,  and 
commit  themselves,  with  all  their  infirmities,  into 
the  hands  of  a  faithful  Redeemer.  Old  Harmer 
walked  aside,  drawing  the  sleeve  of  his  coat  across 
his  eyes,  and  young  Harmer  wept,  but  his  were  not 
tears  of  sorrow  ;  for,  as  he  wrung  me  by  the  hand, 
he  smiled  in  my  face,  and  said,  ■  Gon  will  redeem 
my  soul  from  the  power  of  the  grave ;  for  he  shall 
receive  me.' 
"  In  a  few  days  I  left  the  village  for  a  little  time, 


96  ALAN   GILBERT'S 

and  when  I  returned  and  inquired  after  poor  young 
Harmer,  the  grass  was  growing  upon  his  grave. 
'Life  is  even  a  vapor,  that  appeareth  for  a  little 
time,  and  then  vanisheth  away.'  " 

"  Harmer  was  a  good  lad,"  said  Frank  Redding, 
bat  we  must  all  die  in  our  turns.  You  have  not 
forgotten  Jasper  Andrews,  I  dare  say.  Jasper  and 
I  were  old  cronies,  and  many  a  bit  of  fun  we  have 
had  together  :  but  that  scape-grace  of  a  son  did  for 
him.     Harry  Andrews  was  too  many  for  his  father." 

"No,  no,"  resumed  Alan  Gilbert,  "I  have  not 
forgotten  Jasper  Andrews;  he  and  his  wife  lived  in 
the  thatched  cottage  at  the  corner  of  the  lane,  near 
to  the  blacksmith's  shop.  They  feared  not  God, 
nor  regarded  the  Word  of  the  Most  High  ;  no  won- 
der, then,  that  their  son  Harry  was  brought  up  in 
the  same  way.  Harry  turned  out  a  worthless  fel- 
low, despised  and  ill-used  his  parents,  brought  them 
to  great  poverty,  and  then  went  to  sea.  Jasper 
withered  away  like  a  broken  bough.  He  died,  and 
was  buried  ;  his  wife  pined  a  little  while  after  him, 
and  then  died  also.  Every  one  said  that  their  son 
Harry  had  broken  their  hearts.  I  was  standing  by 
the  side  of  the  grave  after  the  funeral  service  had 
been  read  over  the  dust  of  Dame  Andrews ;  for  I 
always  felt  a  desire  to  see  the  last  of  those  whom  I 
knew  in  the  village.  Some  children  were  shovelling 
earth  into  the  grave,  for  Harmer,  the  sexton,  had  not 
begun  to  fill  it  up,  when  a  tall  stripling  of  a  lad  in 
a  sailor's  jacket,  with  a  bundle  under  his  arm,  crossed 
over  from  the  cottage  where  Andrews  and  his  wife 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  97 

once  lived.  He  came  into  the  church-yard,  and 
walked  right  up  to  the  grave  ;  sat  down  upon  a  little 
head-stone,  and  rested  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and 
his  face  upon  his  hands :  I  never  saw  such  a  picture 
of  misery.  It  was  young  Harry  Andrews.  He  had 
just  come  home  from  sea,  and  called, at  the  cottage, 
where  he  learned  that  his  mother,  about  half  an  hour 
before,  had  been  laid  in  the  grave  of  his  father.  As 
he  sat  on  the  little  head-stone,  he  looked  wildly  on 
the  grave,  but  he  spoke  not  a  word.  Not  a  single 
tear  trickled  down  his  cheek,  but  he  gave  a  groan 
that  w,ent  to  my  very  heart.  I  know  not  what  it 
was  that  he  was  thinking  of,  but  I  remembered  the 
words  in  the  Bible,  '  Cursed  is  he  that  setteth  light 
by  his  father  or  his  mother ;'  and  I  would  not  have 
been  Harry  Andrews  for  the  whole  world." 

"  It  served  him  right/'  snappishly  observed  Etherd 
Morris;  "  when  young  chaps  bring  their  old  fathers 
to  poverty,  it  matters  not  what  they  suffer." 

"It  may  be  so,"  replied  Alan  Gilbert;  "but  I 
have  often  thought  that  Harry  Andrews  was  sorely 
neglected  in  his  youth.  The  tree  will  grow  in  the 
form  that  the  twig  has  been  bent  in ;  and  poor 
Harry,  wherever  he  may  be  now,  has  not  only  sin- 
ned, but  sorrowed." 

"  He  deserves  to  sorrow,''  said  Etherd  Morris, 
with  unrelenting  severity. 

"  Ay.  Etherd !  we  all  deserve  to  sorrow ;  for  who 

is  there  that  has  not,  in  one  way  or  other,  wrung 

the  hearts  of  his  parents.  /  It  may  go  hard  with  us  if 

we  are  too  severe,  for  it  is  written,  '  If  ye  forgive 

9 


OS  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

men  their  trespasses,  your  heavenly  Father  will  also 
forgive  you.  But  if  ye  forgive  not  men  their  tres- 
passes, neither  will  your  Father  forgive  your  tres- 
passes.' " 

This  reply  put  an  end  to  the  remarks  of  old 
Etherd  ;  and  Frank  Redding  observed,  that  Master 
Gilbert  would  stop  any  body's  mouth,  for  that  he 
verily  believed  he  had  learned  the  whole  Bible  by 
Jieart,  from  one  end  of  it  to  the  other. 

Young  Harry  Gilbert  was  thinking  on  what  had 
jallen  from  the  lips  of  his  grandfather,  when  a  con- 
versation sprang  up  between  Etherd  Morris  and 
Frank  Redding  about  Squire  Norton,  and  both 
agreed,  that  the  sooner  he  was  laid  under  the  turf 
the  better. 

The  Squire  had  been  a  little  hard  upon  them  re- 
specting a  piece  of  common  land,  to  which  they 
considered  themselves  entitled,  and,  in  other  in- 
stances, he  had  made  himself  an  object  of  hatred  in 
the  village.  Etherd  hoped  the  Squire  would  want  a 
bit  of  land  before  he  died  ;  and  Frank  was  deter- 
mined to  drink  ar  extra  mug  of  ale  on  the  day  in 
which  he  should  be  buried.  Now  this  was  very 
wrong  in  these  old  men;  we  should  neither  do,  or 
wish  evil  to  any  one. 

"Let  him  alone!  Let  him  alone!"  said  Alan; 
K  he  has  trouble  enough,  depend  upon  it.  You 
remember  that  he  had  a  son  and  a  daughter.whom  he 
loved  as  his  own  life,  and  many  an  hour  did  he  spend 
in  thinking  how  he  should  bring  them  up.  He 
bought  this,  and  that,  and  the  other  foi  them.     The 


LAST    BIRTH-DAY.  99 

son  was  to  go  to  college,  and  the  daughter  to  have 
masters  to  instruct  her.  He  brewed  strong  ale,  to  be 
drank  when  his  son  came  of  age  ;  and  his  daughter 
was  to  go  to  London  when  sixteen  years  old.  to  see  a 
little  of  the  world,  and  to  be  introduced  into  fashion- 
able life.  He  doated  on  his  children,  and  thought 
more  about  them  than  he  did  of  his  Maker.  Oh,  if 
Squire  Norton  had  taught  his  children  the  fear  of  the 
Lord,  it  had  been  better  for  them,  and  for  him  too. 
But  he  could  not  teach  them  what  he  knew  not  him- 
self, so  they  were  left  in  ignorance  of  the  way  of  sal- 
vation. His  daughter  died  when  only  seven  years 
old,  and  his  son  was  taken  away  before  he  was  nine, 
and  vSquire  Norton  was  left  childless,  with  the  bitter 
reflection  that  he  had  never  instructed  his  children 
to  ?  remember  their  Creator  in  the  days  of  their 
youth.'  I  shall  not  soon  forget  the  day  his  son  was 
buried.  The  family  vault  was  opened,  and  I  was  in 
it  when  the  coffin  was  placed  among  the  rest.  On 
my  right  hand  was  the  coffin  of  the  old  Squire,  very 
little  the  worse  for  wear,  though  the  mould  had 
gathered  somewhat  upon  it.  Close  to  it  was  Ma- 
dam's coffin.  Madam  died  about  ten  years  before 
the  old  Squire,  and  her  coffin  was  fading  apace.  It 
was  a  cutting  sight  to  see  the  Squire  when  the  coffin 
of  his  son,  his  last  child,  was  put  among  the  rest." 
"  Pshaw  !"  said  old  Etherd  Morris.  "  The  Squire 
cares  for  nothing ;  his  heart  is  as  hard  as  a  flint  stone : 
what  if  he  did  squeeze  out  a  tear  or  two,  he  was 
the  same  man  after  as  he  was  before,  and  cared  as 
little  for  those  about  him." 


100  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

"  I  know  that  he  deserved  but  little  pity,"  replied 
Alan  Gilbert;  "and  I  felt  no  great  sorrow  for  him 
myself,  'because  that  he  remembered  not  to  show 
mercy,  but  persecuted  the  poor  and  needy  man :' 
but  we  ought,  nevertheless, to  'be  kindly  affectioned 
one  to  another,'  and  to  '  weep  with  those  who  weep :' 
and  when  I  saw  him  hide  his  face  in  his  mourning 
cloak,  and  heard  him  sob  as  the  gravel  rattled  on 
the  coffin  lid  of  his  son,  I  felt  for  him  then.  It  is  a 
hard  matter,  Etherd  Morris,  to  lose  a  child  ;  but 
when  the  last  prop  of  a  family  goes, — when  there  is 
no  one  left  behind  to  watch  and  care  for^  that  must 
be  bitter  work,  Etherd  !" 

"Young  or  old,  we  must  all  go  when  our  time 
comes,"  observed  Frank  Redding. 

"I  know  we  must/'  resumed  Alan;  " '  we  must 
needs  die,  and  be  as  water  spilt  on  the  ground,  which 
cannot  be  gathered  up  again;'  but  though  all  must 
die,  there  is  a  great  difference  in  death-beds.  '  Mark 
the  perfect  man  and  behold  the  upright,  for  the  end 
of  that  man  is  peace.'  " 

As  Alan  finished  his  scriptural  text,  the  wife  of 
Etherd  Morris  came  hobbling  up,  leaning  on  her 
stick :  though  younger  than  her  husband  by  ten 
years,  she  was  more  infirm  than  he.  The  wife  of  a 
peevish  and  passionate  man  is  often  pretty  sure 
either  to  adopt  the  ill-nature  of  her  husband,  or  to 
be  subdued  by  it:  the  latter  was  the  case  with  Dame 
Morris,  for  she  never  opened  her  mouth  to  speak  to 
her  husband  without  fear.  It  was  a  rare  case  for 
her  to  receive  from  him  any  other  answer  than  what 


LAST    BIRTH-DAY.  10i 

necessity  compelled,  or  ill-temper  prompted.  On 
the  present  occasion  it  might  have  been  expected 
that  he  would  behave  with  a  little  more  than  com- 
mon civility ;  but  habit  is  strong  in  all,  especially 
with  the  aged  :  and  Etherd  Morris  was  not  only 
naturally  peevish  and  cross,  but  he  was  a  stranger 
to  that  religion  which  would  have  changed  his  dis- 
position-; and  he  never  read  the  Bible,  which  says, 
"  Husbands,  love  your  wives,  and  be  not  bitter  against 
them." 

"  And  what  is  it  that  you  want  now  ?"  said  he, 
peevishly  addressing  her.  "  There  is  no  stirring  any 
where  but  you  are  sure  to  come  yelping  at  my  heels ; 
why  could  you  not  stay  at  home  as  you  ought  to  do, 
and  not  come  here  bawling  and  squalling  after  me?" 

"I  am  come,"  said  Dame  Morris,  timidly,  "to 
say  that  Joseph  Baxter  has  called  to  pay  you  the 
small  matter  of  money  that  he  owes  you  for  the 
cabbage  plants,  and  he  wants  to  see  you." 

Etherd,  though  not  displeased  with  the  message, 
was  too  churlish  in  his  disposition  to  acknowledge 
that  his  wife  had  done  right  in  coming  after  him. 
As  he  rose  up  to  go,  he  observed  that  people  always 
contrived  to  call  upon  him  just  when  he  was  com- 
fortable. 

"  You'll  come  back  again,"  cried  Frank  Redding. 

"  Ay,  come  back  as  soon  as  you  can,"  said  Alan 
Gilbert,  "  for  1  know  not  when  we  may  spend  an- 
other half  day  together." 

Away  went  old  Etherd,  without  making  any  reply, 
leaving  his  wife  to  follow  him  at  her  leisure.  Alan 
9* 


102  ALAN   GILBERT'S 

pitied  Dame  Morris,  for  he  knew  that  she  led  but  % 
sorry  life  with  her  husband,  whose  bad  temper  wa:> 
of  too  long  standing  to  be  cured  by  advice  or  reproof, 
and  he  urged  her  to  take  a  seat  at  the  table  :  "  Come, 
Dame  Morris,"  said  he,  "  your  old  man  is  a  little  short 
in  his  temper,  to  be  sure,  but  you  have  weathered 
many  a  storm  together  in  your  time,  and  it  is  not 
worth  while  falling  out  about  little  matters  now,  when 
you  are  so  near  your  journey's  end.  You  must 
partake  of  our  cheer,  for  it  is  my  birth-day,  and  may- 
hap this  time  next  year  some  of  us  may  be  absent." 

Dame  Morris  took  the  seat  her  husband  had  left, 
and  wished  Alan  Gilbert  many  happy  returns  of  the 
day,  adding  that  she  hoped  when  his  days  here  should 
be  ended  he  might  be  gathered  to  his  fathers  in  peace. 
"Amen,"  said  Alan,  "so  may  it  be  with  us  all." 

Alan  then  inquired  of  Dame  Morris  when  she  last 
heard  of  Margaret  Rollins;  for  he  knew  that  Mar- 
garet had  been  a  good  friend  to  her. 

"  Wherever  that  woman  goes,"  continued  Alan, 
"God's  blessing  will  go  with  her,  and  the  good 
wishes  of  all  who  knew  her.  At  the  full  of  the 
moon,  and  at  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  I 
once  stood  by  the  stone  wall  at  the  church-yard, 
yonder ;  it  was  in  the  autumn,  for  the  dried  leaves 
that  had  fallen  from  the  trees  rustled  under  my  feet. 
The  dark  boughs  of  the  old  yew  tree,  near  the  church 
porch,  were  waving  a  little  in  the  wind,  and  the 
moon-beams'  flickering  light  ever  and  anon  glittered 
through  them,  and  fell  upon  the  tomb-stone  of  Wil- 
liam Rollins." 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  103 

"William  was  a  good  man,"  said  Dame  Morris, 
"and  his  wife  is  a  good  woman.',' 

"Why,  as  to  that,"  replied  Alan,  "  Scripture  says, 
'  There  is  none  that  doeth  good,  no,  not  one  f  but  as 
far  as  the  word  good  may  be  applied  to  poor  mor- 
tal creatures,  I  believe  that  it  may  safely  be  used 
when  speaking  of  William  and  Margaret  Rollins. 
Well,  as  I  said,  I  was  standing  near  the  stone  wall 
in  the  moon-light.  That  day  twelve  months  the 
body  of  William  Rollins  had  been  put  into  the 
ground,  and  poor  Margaret,  who  followed  him  to 
the  grave,  returned  to  her  desolate  habitation.  Mar- 
garet believed  the  words,  '  Blessed  are  the  dead 
which  die  in  the  Lord  ;'  but  still  the  loss  of  her  hus- 
band made  her  cottage  desolate.  There  were  many 
things  beside  her  own  heart  that  reminded  her  of 
William:  his  bill-hook,  and  his  large  leathern  mit- 
tens, still  occupied  a  place  in  the  chimney  corner; 
his  blue  coat  with  the  gilt  buttons,  his  red  waistcoat, 
and  leathern  small  clothes,  lay  neatly  folded  in  the  old 
oaken  chest,  and  his  broad  brimmed  hat  yet  hung  on 
the  peg  behind  the  door.  William,  however,  was 
not  there,  and  how  could  the  habitation  be  other 
than  desolate?  You  know  that  Margaret  was  not 
left  alone  when  her  husband  died ;  no  !  she  had  a 
daughter  whom  she  doated  on  ;  she  had  a  Bible, 
too,  which  she  valued  as  one  of  her  best  worldly 
possessions;  and  she  had  His  presence,  who  has  said 
to  the  afflicted  and  forsaken  widow,  '  Thy  Maker  is 
thy  husband ;'  yet,  still,  with  all  these  mercies,  she 
felt  the  loss  of  her  husband,  for  human  nature  is  too 


104  ALAN    GILBERT  S 

full  of  infirmity  to  lose  that  which  it  loves  without 
a  sigh  and  a  tear;  and  Margaret,  though  she  sor- 
rowed not  as  those  without  hope,  did  sorrow  for  her 
husband.  I  wander  sadly  from  what  I  was  about  to 
teh  you  ;  but,  while  I  stood  by  the  stone  wall,  Mar- 
garet stepped  into  the  church-yard,  and  walked  up 
to  her  husband's  grave." 

"  Poor  thing !"  said  Dame  Morris,  taking  up  one 
end  of  her  apron,  and  wiping  her  eyes  with  it; 
"she  always  loved  her  husband,  and  thinks  of 
him  to  this  day  as  one  of  the  best  creatures  that 
ever  lived." 

"  Margaret,"  continued  Alan,  "  stood  some  time 
by  the  side  of  the  grave  weeping,  and  her  heart  ir 
her  bosom  was  as  heavy  as  lead,  at  least  so  she  has> 
told  me  since,  for  I  have  more  than  once  talked  to 
her  about  that  visit  to  her  husband's  grave.  All  at 
once  she  clasped  her  hands  together;  for  in  that  mo- 
ment of  grief  and  tears,  a  ray  from  beyond  the  sun, 
the  moon,  and  the  stars,  beamed  upon  her  mind  ;  a 
hope  and  joy  took  possession  of  her  heart,  and 
though  she  still  wept,  hers  were  not  tears  of  sorrow. 
But  what  was  it  that  so  suddenly  gave  comfort  to 
her  drooping  spirits?  I  will  tell  you.  At  that  mo- 
ment her  thoughts  had  turned,  or  rather,  they  were 
turned  by  Him  who  '  despiseth  not  the  sighing  of  a 
contrite  heart'  to  the  glorious  Gosjel  of  eternal 
truth,  and  the  words  occurred  to  her  mind,  '  I  am 
the  resurrection  and  the  life;  he  that  believeth  on 
me  though  he  were  dead  yet  shall  he  live;  and 
whosoever  liveth  and  believeth  in  me  shall  never 


LAST  BIRTH-BAY.  J05 

die.'  Margaret  believed  that  she  should  again  see 
her  husband  in  heaven,  and  in  that  belief  all  her 
sorrow  and  her  darkness  passed  away.  It  may 
plepse  God  to  hide  his  face  from  his  followers  for  a 
season,  but  in  mercy  will  he  return  unto  those  who 
trust  in  him.  Margaret  Rollins  kneeled  down  on 
the  sod  with  all  the  humility  of  a  chastened  child, 
and  poured  forth,  not  her  repinings,  but  her  praises, 
to  the  Father  of  mercies,  and  the  God  of  all  conso- 
lation, for  the  light,  the  joy,  and  the  immortality 
brought  to  light  by  the  Gospel." 

Whether  Alan  would  have  said  any  thing  more 
about  Margaret  Rollins  is  uncertain ;  but  when  he 
had  proceeded  thus  far,  poor  Dame  Morris  dropped 
a  slight  courtesy  to  him  and  abruptly  took  her 
leave,  for  she  saw  her  husband  at  no  great  distance 
coming  toward  them. 

Frank  Redding  had  a  jest  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue 
as  Dame  Morris  hobbled  across  the  green  with  her 
stick,  but  Alan's  animated  and  solemn  manner,  and 
still  more  solemn  words,  had  some  effect  upon  him, 
and  for  once  he  refrained  from  indulging  his  favor- 
ite propensity,  and  kept  back  the  jest. 


106  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

CHAPTER    X. 

SUNSET. 

Alan's  Emotion— The  Old  Oak  Tree— Secret  Cause  of  Sorrow— 
Etherd  Morris's  Watch— The  Cloud— The  Glorious  Sunset— Th* 
Contrast — The  Separation — The  Fervent  Prayer — Alan's  Peaceful 
Death  —  Present  State  of  the  Village  —Alan's  Tombstone  —  Con- 
clusion. 

By  the  time  Etherd  Morris  had  once  more  seated 
himself,  the  sun  was  going  down  a  little  to  the  right 
of  the  high  clump  of  fir  trees  in  the  distance,  and 
Alan  looked  at  it  for  a  moment  or  two  thoughtfully, 
without  speaking.  Harry  Gilbert's  quick  eye  was 
fixed  on  the  face  of  his  grandfather,  for  he  saw  very 
plainly  that  his  mind  was  at  work  within  him. 
Etherd,  and  Frank  too,  had  noticed  the  same  thing, 
and  no  one  cared  to  speak  until  Alan  Gilbert  him- 
self broke  silence  in  the  following  manner. 

"  It  is  not  for  a  poor  mortal  creature  to  know  the 
designs  of  his  Maker,  'in  whose  hand  is  the  soul  of 
every  living  thing,  and  the  breath  of  all  mankind  j' 
but  I  have  it  strongly  on  my  mind,  that  I  shall 
never  see  another  sun  go  down  on  my  birth-day. 
The  light  is  sweet  to  me,  and  a  pleasant  sight  it  is 
for  the  eyes  to  behold  the  sun,  especially  when  we 
consider  who  made  it,  and  can  say,  ( The  Lord  God 
is  a  sun  and  shield  ;  the  Lord  will  give  grace  and 
glory :  no  good  thing  will  he  withhold  from  them 
that  walk  uprightly.'  "• 


LAST   BIRTH-DAV.  107 

Neither  Etherd  Morris,  Frank  Redd:  1  j,  nor  Harry 
Gilbert  seemed  disposed  to  break  in  o.i  Alan's  ob- 
servations, and  the  iatter  went  on  with  an  earnest- 
ness of  manner  that  secured  attention  to  every  word 
that  fell  from  his  lips. 

"  If  I  had  my  time  to  come  over  again,  with 
God's  grace  I  would  make  a  better  use  of  it  than 
I  have  done.  A  Christian  man  is  bound  in  every 
stage  of  his  pilgrimage  to  consider  that  he  is  not  his 
own  property;  that  he  is  'bought  with  a  price,  even 
the  precious  blood  of  Jesus:  as  of  a  iamb  without 
blemish,  and  without  spot,'  and  therefore  he  is 
bound  to  obey  his  heavenly  Father;  'to  glorify  God 
in  his  body  and  spirit,  which  are  God's;'  but  how 
littJo  V\ave  I  regarded  this  truth!  Fourscore  sum- 
mers, *nd  as  many  winters,  have  I  lived  in  the 
world,  and  to  try  to  count  the  number  of  my  mer- 
cies would  be  in  vain,  for  they  are  more  in  number 
than  the  hairs  of  my  head.  God  has  done  Much 
for  my  welfare,  but  very  little  have  I  done  for  his 
praise." 

"Why,  as  to  that,  Master  Gilbert,"  said  Frank 
Redding,  putting  his  thumbs  into  his  waistcoat 
pockets,  and  sitting  more  upright,  "  I  don't  know 
who  has  done  any  thing  if  you  hav'nt.  You've  bin 
a  regular  church  goer  to  my  knowledge  for  thirty 
or  forty  years.  There  hasn't  bin  father,  mother,  or 
child  sick  in  the  whole  parish,  that  you  hav'nt  gone 
to  see,  nor  a  poor  body  that  you  hav'nt  done  som'at 
for.  If  all  that  I  hears  be  true,  the  parson  himself 
doesn't  pray  better  nor  knows  more  of  the  Bible 


108  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

indeed,  you  are  a  sort  o'  bible  yourself,  for  texts  o' 
Scripture  hang  on  your  tongue  as  thick  as  a 
wreath  of  onions.  Look  at  the  money  you  gives  to 
the  Sunday  school  and  all  them  societies !  Talk  o' 
you  doing  little!  why,  if  I  had  only  done  half  as 
much,  I  should  reckon  myself  as  sure  o'  going  to 
heaven  as  if  I  was  there  now." 

"Ah,  Frank!"  replied  Alan,  shaking  his  head, 
"God  grant  of  his  mercy  that  you  may  be  taught 
how  little  such  deeds  as  these  help  us  heavenward, 
unless  they  spring  from  love  to  the  Redeemer.  We 
may  give  all  we  have  to  the  poor,  and  spend  our 
strength  in  visiting  tbe  afflicted  in  vain,  for  pride 
and  self-righteousness  may  be  at  the  bottom  of  all 
this.  When  we  are  convinced  that  we  are  sinners, 
and  believe  that  Jesus  Christ  has  put  away  our  sin 
by  the  sacrifice  of  himself,  such  deeds  may  be  accept- 
ed as  humble  tokens  of  gratitude  and  obedience, 
but  not  as  claims  to  God's  favor.  No  !  no  !  Heaven 
must  be  given  us  by  free  grace  and  mercy,  or  we 
shall  never  get  it  at  all." 

"Well,  Master  Gilbert,  you  knows  best,"  said 
Frank ;  "  but  it  will  go  but  roughly  with  most  on  us 
if  you  doesn't  go  to  heaven." 

"  God  forbid  that  any  of  us  should  not  go  there," 
said  Alan ;  "  for  how  dreadful  must  it  be  to  depart 
from  God's  presence,  and  to  enter  '  where  the  worm 
dieth  not,  and  the  fire  is  not  quenched.' " 

"I  don't  think  the  Almighty  will  be  so  hard  on 
us  as  that  comes  to,"  continued  Frank ;  "  at  least  I 
hopes  not." 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  109! 

"Ah,  Frank,"  replied  Alan,  "it  is  time  for  us  to 
leave  off  depending  on  what  we  think  and  hope,  and 
to  pay  attention  to  what  God  says.  '  The  wicked 
shall  be  turned  into  hell,  and  all  the  nations  that 
forget  God.'  The  nearer  the  prospect  of  death  ap- 
pears to  be,  the  more  anxious  am  I  to  give  up  all 
my  fancies,  however  pleasant  they  have  been,  and  to 
depend  alone  on  the  realities  of  the  Word  of  God; 
It  is  bad  enough  to  be  deceived  in  youth  and  in 
manhood,  but  a  great  deal  worse  to  be  deceived  in 
old  age,  respecting  eternity.  I  feel  it  to  be  a  blessed 
thing  to  be  able  to  say,  without  a  doubt  hanging 
on  my  mind,  '  I  am  not  ashamed  of  the  Gospel  of 
Christ  ;  for  it  is  the  power  of  God  unto  salvation, 
to  every  one  that  believeth.'  " 

Frank  Redding  and  Etherd  Morris  agreed  that 
Alan  knew  as  much  as  a  bishop  need  know  about 
the  Bible ;  and  Harry  Gilbert  could  not  but  perceive 
how  little  Frank  and  Etherd  knew  about  it  them- 
selves. 

"  Look  at  the  old  oak  yonder,  Harry,"  said  Alan  ; 
"my  father's  father  used  to  climb  up  its  trunk,  and 
gather  acorns  from  its  branches;  but  it  is  almost 
done  for  now,  for  the  branches  are  dead,  and  as  for 
the  trunk,  that  is  as  hollow  as  a  drum.  It  has,  how- 
ever, one  green  spray  sprouting  out  still.  Now,  that 
oak  is  an  emblem  of  Alan  Gilbert :  the  trunk  is  like 
his  worn-out  body,  which  will  soon  moulder  in  the 
dust;  and  the  green  spray  resembles  the  hope  of 
eternal  life  that  animates  his  spirit." 

Harry  looked  at  the  old  oak,  and  thought  that 
10 


110 

whilst  it  was  above  ground,  he  should  never  forget 
the  words  of  his  grandfather. 

It  often  happens  that  good  men,  in  passing  through 
life,  have  a  secret  care,  a  hidden  source  of  sorrow, 
arising  from  some  error  committed,  some  besetting 
sin  that  clogs  their  spirit,  so  that  even  when  they 
rejoice,  they  "rejoice  with  trembling."  Now  this 
weight,  though  not  "joyous,  but  grievous,"  is  an 
especial  mercy,  and  is  intended  to  keep  them  hum- 
ble. Alan  had  felt  a  load  on  his  spirit  ever  since 
his  prodigal  son  pursued  his  erring  course;  the  bit- 
ter recollection  that,  like  Eli  of  old,  when  his  son 
sinned,  "  he  restrained  him  not,"  at  times  sorely 
tried  him.  He  looked  on  the  repentance  of  his  son 
as  a  sort  of  earnest  that  this  sin  had  been  forgiven 
him,  yet  still  the  remembrance  was  not  blotted  from 
his  memory.  "  Harry,"  said  he,  with  emotion, 
while  the  past  came  over  htm,  "I  have  sorrowed 
over  one  son,  let  me  have  no  cause  to  sorrow  over 
another." 

"  There's  not  much  amiss  in  young  Harry,"  said 
Frank;  "and  where  one  lad  can  be  found  better, 
you  will  find  two  a  pretty  deal  worse.  He's  rather 
o'er  fond  of  a  prank,  to  be  sure ;  but  young  folks 
will  be  young  folks,  all  the  world  over." 

"  Ay,"  said  Etherd,  "  and  some  old  folks  that  I 
knows  on  will  be  young  folks  too,  as  long  as  they 
can  stand  upright.  My  shin  has  been  smarting  ever 
since  you  fetched  it  that  rap  with  the  stool.  If 
Harry  was  as  tame  as  a  lap-dog,  you'd  soon  make 
him  as  wild  as  a  March  hare." 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  Ill 

"  Do  you  say  so  ?"  said  Frank,  laughing.  "  Well, 
after  all,  I  likes  to  see  lads  with  a  little  life  in  'em ; 
and  Harry  would  be  well  enough  if  he  would  learn 
to  sit  quietly  on  his  stool,  and  not  drink  so  much 
spring  water." 

Harry,  who  had  neither  forgotten  how  his  stool 
was  pulled  from  under  him,  nor  how  he  had  been 
served  by  Frank  Redding  at  the  sandstone  spring, 
told  him  he  would  not  be  long  in  his  debt. 

Etherd  Morris,  leaning  back  and  stretching  out 
his  right  leg,  pulled  out  a  large  watch,  with  an  old- 
fashioned  metal  dial-plate,  and  tortoise-shell  case. 
The  steel  chain,  to  which  it  was  fastened,  was  very 
strong,  and  the  links  jingled  one  against  another. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  your  watch  is  good  for 
any  thing  or  not,"  said  Frank  Redding,  "  but  the 
chain  is  a  capital  one ;  why  it's  almost  as  thick  as  a 
trace-chain,  and  makes  about  as  much  clatter." 

"The  chain  may  clatter,"  replied  Etherd,  "but 
the  works  go  on  silently  enough,  and  quick  enough, 
for  it's  a  matter  of  three-quarters  past  seven  o'clock, 
and  I  was  to  be  at  home  at  eight  to  meet  Andrew 
Barton,  about  a  pig  that  he  and  I  are  bargaining 
about." 

"Three-quarters  past  seven!"  exclaimed  Frank; 
why  I  was  to  go  up  to  the  tanhouse  at  seven,  and 
here  have  I  been  sitting,  thinking  no  more  about  it, 
than  Harry  has  of  going  up  to  Lunnun.  Jem  Price 
will  wonder  what  has  become  on  me.  It's  all  owing 
to  Master  Gilbert  there;  for  what  with  his  seed- 
cake, and  his  other  good  cheer,  and  talking,  over 


112  ALAN    GILBERT^ 

*>ld  times,  I  'a  bin  too  comfortable  to  think  of  any 
thing." 

"  That  is  an  ugly  cloud,"  said  Alan,  lifting  up  his 
.head  just  as  the  sun  became  rather  suddenly  ob- 
scured. Frank  and  Harry  Gilbert  kept  talking 
together,  but  Alan  still  looked  steadily  at  the  skies. 
For  a  time  the  sunbeams  struggled  with  the  vapor 
that  overshadowed  them ;  but  it  was  but  for  a  season, 
for,  as  the  orb  of  day  approached  the  horizon,  it 
blazed  forth  in  unclouded  majesty. 

It  was  a  clear  case,  that  while  Alan  had  gazed  on 
the  declining  sun,  he  had  been  thinking  of  his  own 
decline.  The  cloud  had  thrown  a  shade  across  his 
brow  ;  but  when  it  passed  away,  and  he  saw  the 
sun  setting  in  unobstructed  brightness,  his  brow 
was  cleared,  and  his  face  beamed  with  its  usual 
serenity. 

"  I  never  see'd  the  sun  set  brighter,"  said  Etherd 
Morris;  "the  church  weathercock  glows  like  fire, 
and  the  windows  at  the  parsonage  are  all  of  a  light 
shine." 

"And  look  at  the  brook  yonder,  how  it  glistens," 
said  Frank  Redding  ;  "  one  might  almost  think  that  a 
jack  'o'  lantern  had  got  down  among  the  meadows." 

The  laughing  eyes  of  Frank,  and  his  flaxen  hair — 
the  bald  head  and  peevish  features  of  Etherd  Morris 
— the  peaceful  countenance  of  Alan,  and  the  cheerful 
face  of  his  grandson,  formed  a  strong  contrast  to 
each  other,  as  the  whole  group  sat  round  the  table 
with  their  hats  off,  enjoying  the  breeze,  and  gazing 
on  the  glory  of  the  setting  sun. 


LAST    BIRTHDAY.  113 

Etherd  Morris  at  last  put  on  his  hat,  saying  that 
Andrew  Barton  woud'nt  wait  for  him,  for  he  was 
always  in  such  a  hurry,  that  he  wondered,  for  his 
part,  he  hadn't  broken  his  neck  long  afore.  Frank 
Redding  said,  he  was  no  starter;  he  could  willingly 
sit  an  hour  longer,  and  let  Jem  Price  and  the  tan- 
house  take  their  chance  ;  but,  as  Etherd  Morris  was 
going,  there  was  no  use  in  his  staying  behind ;  so, 
putting  on  his  hat,  he  and  Etherd  Morris  shook 
hands  with  Alan  Gilbert  and  his  grandson. 

The  smoke  curling  up  from  the  chimneys  of  Squire 
Norton  was  seen  in  the  distance,  the  rooks  were 
winging  their  way  to  the  rookery,  the  sounds  of 
Horbury's  hammers  ringing  on  the  anvil  ceased,  and 
the  sun  threw  his  last  beam  upon  the  village,  and 
sank  behind  Whetsone  Ridge,  as  Etherd  and  Frank 
walked  quietly  across  the  green,  while  Alan  and 
Harry  Gilbert,  each  carrying  a  chair,  slowly  entered 
the  cottage. 

That  night  Alan  Gilbert  put  up  a  longer  prayer 
than  usual,  and  with  greater  fervency  committed 
himself,  and  all  that  he  possessed,  into  the  hands  of" 
his  heavenly  Father.  He  prayed  for  himself,  for 
his  grandson,  and  for  his  aged  friends,  that,  every 
sorrow  past,  and  every  sin  forgiven,  they  might  meet 
in  heaven  above  to  sing  of  mercy,  and  to  praise  the 
compassion  and  grace  of  the  Redeemer,  having  an 
abundant  entrance  into  the  holiest,  by  the  atoning 
sacrifice  of  Jesus  Christ. 

From  that  time  forward,  Alan  doubled  his  dili- 
gence in  every  good  word  and  work,  reproving,  con- 


114  ALAN    GILBERT'S 

soling,  and  encouraging  all  around  him,  in  eternal 
things.  He  gave  away  more  liberally,  he  exhorted 
his  old  friends  more  earnestly  to  attend  to  the  things 
that  belonged  to  their  peace,  spent  more  time  with 
his  Bible,  devoted  himself  more  to  prayer,  and  espe- 
cially sought  to  impress  on  the  mind  of  Harry 
Gilbert  the  great  advantage  of  early  piety. 

The  fall  of  the  leaf  came,  and  winter  followed,  and 
Alan  was  still  an  inhabitant  of  his  cottage;  but  he 
tarried  there  like  a  wayfaring  man,  who,  while  he 
sojourns  for  a  season,  knows  that  his  journey  is 
before  him.  Alan  felt  sure  that  his  days  were  num- 
bered, and  that  he  should  soon  be  gathered  to  his 
fathers. 

The  spring  burst  forth,  and  nature  rejoiced,  for  the 
time  of  the  singing  of  birds  was  come,  and  the  voice 
of  the  turtle  was  heard  in  the  land.  Alan  rejoiced, 
too,  with  "joy  unspeakable  and  full  of  glory,"  but 
it  was  at  the  prospect  of  his  heavenly  inheritance. 
As  nature  gave  way,  grace  reigned  triumphant 
within  him  ;  and  when  the  summer's  sun  gilded  the 
.earth  with  his  golden  beam,  he  was  drawing  near 
fiis  latter  end.  Etherd  Morris  and  Frank  Redding 
would  have  it  that  he  would  revive  again,  and  pass 
another  birth-day  with  them  on  the  green  before  his 
.cottage;  but  before  his  birth-day  came,  he  was 
sleeping  with  a  green  hillock  over  his  breast,  having 
►calmly  sunk  to  rest  in  a  good  old  age,  full  of  faith, 
in  sure  and  certain  hope  of  a  resurrection  to  eter- 
nal life,  through  the  merits  of  his  compassionate 
Hedeemer. 


LAST   BIRTH-DAY.  113 

Etherd  Morris  and  Frank  Redding  are  living  still, 
though  the  one  is  too  feeble  to  quit  his  habitation, 
and  the  laughing  eye  of  the  other  has  sadly  lost 
its  lustre.  Trouble  is  coming  with  hasty  strides 
on  Squire  Norton.  Horbury,  the  blacksmith,  is  a 
changed  man,  and  his  daughter  is  a  credit  to  the 
Sunday  school.  Luke  Barnes  is  returned  from  a 
foreign  land,  and  lives  a  life  of  usefulness  and 
Christian  piety ;  and  Margaret  Rollins  and  her 
daughter  are  dwelling  at  the  cottage  next  to  that  of 
Walter  Stevens ;  the  one  treading  in  the  steps  of  the 
other,  and  both  journeying  heavenward. 

There  is  a  stone  in  the  church-yard,  near  that  of 
William  Rollins,  which  bears  the  name  of  Alan 
Gilbert ;  and  there,  as  the  holy  day  of  rest  comes 
round,  the  aged  of  the  village  often  meet  together 
to  moralize  on  days  gone  by  ;  and  then  they  fail  not 
to  read  the  verse  of  Scripture  graven  over  Alan's 
resting  place,  so  justly  descriptive  of  his  latter  end. 
"Mark  the  perfect  man,  and  behold  the  upright; 
for  the  end  of  that  man  is  peace." 

Harry  Gilbert  often  visits  the  spot ;  and,  as  he 
appears  to  be  a  humble  and  sincere  seeker  of  divine 
truth,  and  is  not  likely  to  quit  the  village,  so  it  is 
probable  that  his  body  will  sleep  in  the  same  tomb, 
and  his  spirit  partake  of  the  same  immortality  with 
his  grandfather,  through  His  grace  who  died,  the 
just  for  the  unjust,  that  he  might  bring  us  to  God, 
to  whom  be  "blessing,  and  glory,  and  wisdom,  and 
thanksgiving,  and  power,  and  honor,  and  might  for 
ever  and  ever." 


110  ALAN   GILBERTS   LAST  BIRTH-DAY. 

0  Lord,  the  Saviour  and  defence 

Of  us  thy  chosen  race, 
From  age  to  age  thou  still  hast  been 

Our  sure  abiding-place.        1 

Before  thou  brought'st  the  mountains  forth, 
Or  the  earth  and  world  didst  frame, 

Thou  always  wast  the  mighty  God, 
And  ever  art  the  same. 

Thou  turnest  man,  O  Lord,  to  dust, 

Of  which  he  first  was  made ; 
And  when  thou  speak'st  the  word,  'Return,' 

}T  is  instantly  obey'd. 

For  in  thy  sight  a  thousand  years 

Are  like  a  day  that 's  past ; 
Or  like  a  watch  in  dead  of  night, 

Whose  hours  unminded  waste. 


